


Hungry Ray

by Singe_Addams



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Angst and Humor, F/M, Friendship, Magic, Magic Realism, Male-Female Friendship, Marooned, Starvation, Survival, Survivor Guilt, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singe_Addams/pseuds/Singe_Addams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in a harsh alternate reality Ray finds that he had to face up to the past in order to survive. The aftermath has some very strange implications for the Ghostbusters' future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hungry Ray

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimer: _The Real Ghostbusters_ was my first dip into creative writing so the results can be rough but still entertaining!

**************Pentacle Pete, the Prologue*********************

 

 

“Don’t worry, Janine.” Egon Spengler said, handing over Peter's proton pack to his friend before shouldering his own. “We’ve found Bix. We’ll stop him now.”

“You’re being overly macho, there, Spengs,” Peter Venkman stated, tightening the straps to his pack while standing guard directly next to Janine’s desk, inside the white circle of esoteric powder that surrounded and protected her. His thumb caressed the trigger mechanism on his thrower. He looked down into Janine Melnitz’s tired, strangely blank face. “Egon is ze Macho Grande Man!” Not meeting his eyes, Janine smiled.

“I thought you were over Macho Grande, Egon?” She said, playing along, nervously flipping a can of pepper spray back and forth in her hands.

“I’ll never be over Macho Grande,” Egon said, his deep, deadpan voice delivering the punchline flawlessly. Winston Zeddemore, walking by with his arms full of deadly equipment with a similarly loaded-for-action Ray Stantz in tow, rolled his eyes.

“You guys ready to Blow Rock? I mean…blow this joint?” Winston said, uncharacteristically joining in. Janine looked at him in surprise. Ray said nothing and climbed behind the wheel of Ecto, the group’s converted classic ambulance, and kept his eyes down. That was also strange. Strange enough for Peter to investigate and Janine watched him walk over to the car, nervously adjusting the red sweatband circling his brow as he went. Egon claimed the shotgun seat and Winston crawled into the back, rechecking his own can of pepper spray and a couple of pairs of handcuffs.

Peter leaned into the driver’s side window and patted Ray’s shoulder. His voice floated back to Janine’s desk. “Well, it ain't every day we go after someone who's still alive. Give Bix a couple of broken ribs for me, huh? Teach him not to mess with our own again.” He said glancing back at Janine’s desk. “Teach him that Black Magic isn't healthy.”

Ray’s brown eyes rested on Janine for a moment and she smiled at him reassuringly. He didn’t smile back. He reached down and turned the key and Ecto roared into life. “I’ll teach him, Peter,” Ray answered softly. “Take care of Janine for us, okay?”

“Oh, I’ll take care of Janine all right,” Peter said, giving Ray a friendly whack on the face. “I’ll guard her as if she were my own…dog or somethin’.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Ray mumbled and backed the car out of the firehouse, hitting the siren as he went. Peter stood in the garage door and watched until they turned the corner, the siren fading into the distance, then he slowly turned and went back inside.

Janine was still sitting calmly, her chin resting on her fist as she watched Peter approach. He was singing. “Oh, baby, don’t be cruel…to a love that’s true! I don’t want no other love, baby, it’s just you I’m dreaming of!” It seemed to take him days before he finally crossed the length of the garage and Janine let out a thousand mental screams as she waited for him. Peter looked down at the white circle that shielded her and hopped over it, clutching his thrower. “Does Ray really think that a circle of salt, white sand and other such fairy-dust bullshit is going to stop Bix? Black Sorcerer from Hell?”

“From the Bronx, actually, and thanks, Peter, what a reassuring thing to say.” She checked the polish on the fingernails of her left hand, her right hand carefully out of sight. “Real professional, Mr. Numb-nut Psychologist.”

Peter's green eyes became flat and cold. “Real nice, Janine. Real, real nice,” he snarled. Obviously thrown out of his stride, he looked away for a moment. “I mean…you know me, Janine, I’m just a wealth of comfort.” He smiled at her and, oh yes, it looked a little…off.

Janine drew in a great calming breath. “The circle is supposed to keep the black energy out.” Janine smiled the way a Great White Shark might smile. “If Bix sends over anything worse than bad vibes while the guys are gone then you can take care of it with the thrower.”

“Ummm…hummm…” Peter looked down at the circle and, with one sweep of his foot, broke the symmetry of it. “Well, Janine, sweetie, my darling little red-head with the gorgeous ass, I’m afraid he’s sent me.” He flicked the thrower on with his thumb and aimed it directly at her head. “A weapon is only as good as the guy aiming it and I’m really afraid I’m no good at all.”

Janine studied the nails on her left hand again. “What a shock. What an absolute shock.” Below the desk, in her right hand, her knuckles were white as they gripped the pepper spray.

“DON’T SCREAM. Don’t move, don’t make a sound.”

“Okay.” Janine put just the right amount of bored disgust into her answer.

Peter was sweating, his face was shining with it, and he adjusted his headband again. “Or, what the hell, scream yourself blue, it won’t matter. Before you go, I’ve got a message for you from Bix. Y’know? The last words you ever hear will be his, he wanted me to point that out.”

Janine nibbled a cuticle. “Oh, joy. Let’s hear it.”

“Um…” Peter blinked his eyes and almost imperceptibly swayed. “Oh…you should have said yes. Would it have killed you to say yes?”

“Probably. That’s why I said no.” Janine pointed that out as calmly as if she were trying to explain something to a four year old. That set Peter back and he blinked at her for a moment. His eyes became unfocused and the thrower drooped as he listened again to something she couldn’t hear. She realized he was receiving further instructions. Her skin blushed a mottled, fiery red, furious. Bix. Bix was so dead. That bastard. He was dead. Peter’s green eyes cleared and connected with her own again.

“You couldn’t have been nice? Y’know? A nice word, a nice touch? Sweet girls don’t die. They get…they get rewarded.” Peter’s voice was low and wheedling. “I’ll let you live if you’ll be…grateful to the poor guy. If you’ll be nice to him. I mean, after all the hell you put him through you owe him something.”

“After all I put him through? Okay, look here,” She brought her thumb and forefinger together in a tweaking motion. “This is the violin of my heart and it’s playing just for you, Bixxy, you loser.” The pepper spray can was slick with sweat in her hidden hand. The brand name was beginning to wear off. She could see Bix’s insulted dismay reflected in Peter’s face. The thrower came up again, pointing at her face. She sniffed with contempt.

Peter’s face showed confusion. “Why aren’t you afraid?”

“Afraid of YOU? Oh, please.”

Peter’s thumb slowly came off the trigger and he powered down. “All right. I guess I’m going to have to get a little personal here.” He took off the proton pack and laid it on the floor. For the first time during their strange conversation Janine looked dismayed and she stood. “I mean, one quick blast to the head doesn’t send out the message that’s required here. Y’know, ‘It Pays to be Nice.’” Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a Swiss army knife. He flicked out the smaller, more delicate blade. “You should have been nice, Janine, I mean, when a guy admires a girl she should be flattered. She should giggle and act all feminine and blush and be shy. But you weren’t. Wow. You weren’t. A restraining order isn’t very romantic, Janine. Then, you put me in jail. Jail! Shame on you. It takes a lot of guts for a guy to pursue a girl and to be rejected is just plain cruel. Cruel! So, you have only yourself to blame, you frigid bitch.” He walked around the desk to face her.

“Let’s get one thing straight right now.” Janine kicked her office shoes off. “I’m not frigid.” Her high-heels clattered along the floor and the sound seemed to distract Peter for a moment. Then he lunged at her, swiping the knife at her abdomen as if he meant to completely cut her in half. Janine jumped back and triggered off a blast of pepper spray into his face. Peter blinked and wiped at it sluggishly.

The fumes made Janine’s eyes water and Peter should have been in agony but he was reacting as if she had simply spit on him. He advanced again, his eyes red, and Janine dropped the can. Deciding to be a little more blunt, she swung her office chair into his gut. He doubled over, wheezing, then slowly straightened up. Janine had put the desk between them and Peter stared at her pityingly. She was growling and cursing in a low, uncontrollable monotone and now had her stiletto-shaped letter opener in both hands.

“What are you going to do, Janine? Eviscerate Peter? Your friend?”

“If I gotta, yeah. He'll understand.”

He skidded the desk quickly across the floor, knocking her over. Her ‘stiletto’ skidded under a file cabinet. Peter leapt over and stood on her hair. Janine punched his knee and he didn't so much as sway. She screamed, then, and he smiled.

A sudden blow to his back sent Peter flying forward over her. He hit the ground hard. Freed, Janine sat up and delivered a devastating punch to his groin. He dropped the knife and groaned, clutching between his legs. Janine scrambled to grab the pocketknife and clutched it in her fist tightly as a large, brown hand reached down to haul her to her feet. A radio crackled.

“Winston, come in!”

Janine secure beside him Winston flicked on his radio. “Winston here, go ahead Egon.” Peter turned over and looked up at Winston, his eyes wide in shock.

“But…but you left…” Peter mumbled at the big man and started to drag himself up. Winston planted a foot in his chest and kicked him down again. Peter clawed at Winston’s combat boot and Winston leaned a little extra weight on the man. Peter gasped for air. “You left!”

“Winston, Ray’s plan worked perfectly. We’ve found Bix’s location, just a block away, and Ray is destroying his paraphernalia now. I have…ah…rendered Bix unconscious. How’s Janine?”

Janine batted her eyes at Winston and fluffed her hair hoping the big man would decide to ignore her pale face and ragged breath. “She’s fine. We had a little bit of trouble when Peter decided to attack her with his bare hands instead of the booby-trapped thrower but she still kicked his ass. He’ll never live it down.”

“His bare hands?” Egon repeated dully.

“He couldn't connect to save his life. Not a mark on her, Egon, I swear.”

“Float like a butterfly! Sting like a bee!” Janine sang for Egon’s benefit and Winston laughed a little too loudly.

“What about Peter?” Egon asked. Janine heard Ray shout something and then Peter went utterly limp underneath Winston’s foot. “He should be free, now.”

“He’s not fighting anyway.” Winston did not relax. He handed Janine a pair of handcuffs and she secured them tightly around Peter’s wrists.

There was another consultation between Egon and Ray and then Egon returned to the radio. “Ray says to check under his headband for marks.”

“His headband?”

“Ray says that most Controlling spells involve flesh cutting on the head. He theorizes that’s why Peter’s been wearing his work-out sweatband all day. To hide the marks.” Egon’s voice was one of carefully controlled disgust.

Janine flinched and looked up at Winston as he almost dropped the radio in horror. “Oh, god. Winston, let me check. Keep your foot on him.” Winston nodded, looking suddenly green. Carefully watching Peter’s limp hands for any sign of sudden movement Janine slowly bent down and twitched the red band off Peter’s head.

A pentacle, roughly the size of a silver dollar, had been carved deep into Peter’s pale forehead. Janine gently touched the clean edges of the cuts and looked up at Winston, confused and horrified. “There’s no blood.”

Winston’s lips drew back from his teeth in disgust and he spoke into the radio again. “Egon, there’s some slashes there but no blood.” They could hear Egon relay this to Ray who shouted back.

“Winston,” Egon spoke again.

“Yeah?”

“Ray says to take some of the salt and sand from the circle around Janine’s desk, mix it in cool water, and wash the cuts.” Ray shouted something more. “Ray says it’s important that Janine do it.”

“Why Janine?” Winston asked, perturbed. Janine understood why, he was the medic of the group after all. “Wait, mixing sand and SALT into an open wound? Does Ray have it in for Peter?”

“Ray says,” Janine briefly wondered what happened to Ray’s own radio. “He says there has to be only about a teaspoon of the circle mixture to about one pint of water. Peter won’t hurt too much.” Janine turned and began to ransack her desk.

“He’s out cold.” Winston finally removed his boot from Peter’s chest. “Like his strings have been cut.”

“They have. Ray says he’ll come around after his wounds are cleaned. The police are here, I have to deal with them. Ray, take the radio.” Janine ran back with a 34 ounce bottle of Evian spring water, half gone, a scarf with a sunflower pattern on it and the company first aid kit that she kept in her bottom drawer. She unscrewed the top from the bottle and gathered up a sizable handful of the white mixture, much more than a teaspoon, just to be safe, and added it to the water. She screwed the lid back on and shook the bottle for a couple of seconds. Her chest, her eyes, her entire body felt leaden and heavy with tears but she refused to give in to them yet.

She knelt by Peter’s side. He looked grey and her mouth went dry with a fear she didn’t feel when he was attacking her. That wasn’t Peter then. That thing had been Bix, that worthless bastard. But this was Peter now and the cuts looked bleached and dead. Janine gazed up at Winston imploringly. “Why do I have to do it? This is your area.” Janine ran her fingers through Peter’s hair.

“Good question, I don’t like the way those cuts look. Ray, come in.” Janine dabbed at the cuts with her scarf. The slashes were completely dry and she could see the tiny red circles of severed veins in his flesh. She moaned and her face twisted.

“Ray here.”

“Why does Janine have to do it?”

“Because she’s a woman. Excuse me, I have to puke.” The radio went dead.

Winston shrugged at Janine. “I guess it’s a Ray Magic thing.” Janine swallowed and shook the bottle again. She unscrewed the top and quickly poured half the bottle directly onto the pentagram. “AGH! No, no, no!” Winston protested.

“What?!”

“You’re supposed to wet a piece of cloth and GENTLY dab at it.”

“Oh, geez!” She tried wetting a corner of the scarf but it wouldn’t absorb water worth a damn. Tossing it aside, Janine shook the solution again and wet her fingers. She stroked the grains of sand and the dissolving salt well into the lips of the wound. If Ray said it was good then it was good. She blew a breath over the pentacle as if she were treating her nephew for a scraped knee. She rubbed and blew on the star and circle again and, with a suddenness that made them both exclaim out loud, the pentacle took on the appearance of a rose bursting into bloom as it finally began to furiously bleed. Peter’s eyes opened and he gasped for air.

“Peter! Peter, hold still.” Winston pinned Peter’s shoulders down with his hands as he writhed in shock and pain. “Peter hold still, we’ve got you.” Janine dumped the last of the solution onto his face and the salt, sand and blood poured over his face and onto the floor. He knocked Winston’s hands away, cuffs grinding metallically, and sat up. “Peter! Stop! Peter, stop!”

“Peter, hold still!” Janine wrapped her arms around him from behind and pulled him back against her body in a bear hug. He instantly went limp. A good jolt with a taser couldn’t have been more effective. He gasped for air. Suddenly he looked up at her in muddled astonishment.

“D…Damn, Janine. Have you got your Mojo working or what?” he mumbled.

“Ray said you needed a woman’s touch.” Janine explained, holding him tighter. “Why, we don’t know. It’s a magic thing.” Peter’s blood was dripping onto her forearms. Just the ‘woman’s touch’ comment should have sent him off into a salacious, five minute spiel of bad jokes and innuendo but he just lay there instead.

“I think I can take these off, now.” Winston unlocked the cuffs and put them in his pocket. Peter had a band of swollen, bleeding flesh around each wrist and Janine patted at them. “I’ll put a bandage on, too.” She heard him breathe a sigh of relief as he turned to the first aid kit. “Who took the tape out and didn’t put it back? Oh, here it is. Nevermind.”

Janine ignored the blood and kissed Peter on the cheek. It was a moment before her action registered in his cloudy mind and Peter turned an astonished bloodshot eye to her.

“After what I did you give me a smooch. You're nuts.”

Janine interrupted fast. “You didn’t do anything. It was Bix. It was all Bix.”

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” Janine hugged him tighter and Winston reached over and grasped his leg. “I went to get the paper this morning and he was waiting for me in the alley. He pinned me down without moving a muscle, just grinned at me, the bastard...I couldn't fight, couldn't talk. Then...I couldn’t stop. Janine, I'm sorry,” Peter was babbling and Janine covered his mouth with her hand.

“Don't be. It was Bix,” she snarled. Subject closed. End of discussion. Peter gave up and sagged. Janine put her hand down and Winston began to treat Peter’s slashes. Head wounds bleed terribly and his face was pinched with concentration.

Then Peter asked, “How did you know? How did you know he had gotten to me? And you, Winston, I thought you were long gone.”

Winston answered, “Ray knew. He wouldn’t say how, he just said that you smelled bad. You smelled like blackness, he said. He came up with the idea of using your readings to get a fix on Bix’s location since the spell connected the two of you. Janine was the bait. We all figured, rightly, that you were spelled to put a serious hurt on her so Egon modified your thrower to give you a nasty jolt of electricity when you tried to use it. Then, as soon as Ecto was out of your sight I jumped out and circled around back here. Anyway, Egon and Ray continued on to whup Bix’s ass over there while Janine and I whupped yours here.”

“Thank god she took the heels off." Peter’s hands spasmed. "Ray’s the man of the hour, huh?” Peter said, trying to be stoic as Winston cleaned the sand and grit out of his cuts. “Janine?”

“Yeah?”

“You gotta give Ray some of your fine Mojo, too, he’s done good today.” It was a lame joke but they all laughed at it.

“Oh, yeah, right!” Janine snorted.

Peter passed out.

Janine looked at the pentacle and groaned. "That's gonna scar. Peter's gonna go nuts." She ran her fingers through his hair again. Peter was vain and rightly so. He was the most handsome man Janine knew.

"They’re deep. They need stitching. Maybe…maybe as soon as they're healed enough, he can go to a plastic surgeon and get them erased," Winston said. Janine sighed. Peter would find that cold comfort when he fully came back to himself. Winston began to twine a bandage around Peter’s head.

Janine and Winston were silent as they waited for Ray and Egon to come home and for the darkness to end.

 

*****************************Hungry Ray************************************

 

Don’t Wonder Too Far

 

“The Wheel of Destiny! ’Round and ‘round and ‘round she goes! Where she stops, nobody knows! You pays your money and you takes your chances!” Ray Stantz gave the Dimensional Locater dials another spin. His shadow stretched the length of the cool basement lab as he was illuminated by the shaky brightness of the Portal between Here and There. Stopping the dials he looked up with grinning expectancy and the Portal began to bring the nearest random dimension into focus. His fellow scientist and friend, Peter Venkman, well back from the nexus, gave a preparatory cringe. Then the scene clarified.

“It’s okay Peter! No bugs this time! Woo hoo!” Ray cheered.

Peter brought his arms down from his eyes and looked. “EW! Still!” He shook his head at the sight of a tentacled, multi-eyed Squid creature squatting comfortably over a hole in crystal ground.

“What the HELL?!” shouted the Squid.

Peter screamed in horrified delight. “Ray, we forgot the sight barrier screens! Sorry!” He apologized to the staring sheaf of tentacles. “Sorry to disturb you! We're going now!” He motioned at Ray, who began giggling hysterically, and the dials were spun again leaving the traumatized monster behind.

“Oh, Peter! An actual Alternative Universe that time. It spoke English!”

“He saw us, Ray! Screens up!”

“Aye Aye, Captain!” Ray hit the switch that would enable the voyeuristic dimension surfers to see but not be seen. “And, I’m sorry about that.”

Peter waved the apology away. “My fault, too. I can’t believe we’ve gone this long before something intelligent caught us. Hey, did you see the hole? I think it was on the crapper.” Peter grinned. “We should have thrown in a magazine.”

The thought of the Cthulhu wannabe goggling at one of Peter’s Playboys with a hundred eyes almost sent Ray to the floor. He mimed opening up a centerfold, which set Peter off, and their cackling rang all around the basement lab.

In the converted firehouse that made up their home there was nothing so attractive, or so suspicious, as loud, uninhibited laughter and the other residents began to wander downstairs. Speaking of being caught by something intelligent, Egon Spengler was the first to cautiously intrude his long, lanky frame inside and his expectant smile faded when he saw what his learned colleagues were up to. “Dimensional Surfing again? Didn’t I tell you…”

“What a waste of power that is,” Ray finished for him. “I know, Egon, I know.”

“Don’t get your girdle in a snap, blondie,” Peter provoked. “We’re doing it for science!”

“Darwinism in Action has already been proven, Peter, but if you want to contribute to the statistics, go right ahead,” Egon said, glaring down at Peter through his fringe of platinum hair.

Ray jumped in. “I’m sorry, Egon, but, there’s nothing wrong with fun exploration.” Ray saw Peter opening his mouth to comment on that before he noticed Egon waiting with resignation. He quickly shut up again. Ray grinned. Salacious comments are no fun when they’re anticipated. He continued, “Oh, we found some gruesome places! I’ve got the locations stored in the memory backup.” He grabbed up a Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookie out of a huge, white bag and bit into it with gusto as he pointed at his notes of today’s ‘research.’

“Gruesome places?” Janine Melnitz’s Brooklyn accent announced her arrival and Ray was glad. “Why can’t you guys look for beautiful dimensions?” She cautiously stepped over a toolbox and kept her arms close to her body to guard against getting any grease or grime on her fresh, stylish clothes. “Y’know, someplace nice?” she asked.

Ray snapped his fingers. “Someplace nice? I’ve got just the thing, Janine, another Alternative Universe. We found it an hour ago, Peter, remember? The Parlor.” Ray rose onto his toes and settled down again, cheerfully.

“The Parlor? You’re going to love this, Janine.” Janine looked at Peter with deep, well-founded suspicion but he nodded his head to reassure her, sincere for once. “It’s Victorian Era, with two moons. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re not playing with that thing again?!” Winston Zeddemore, arriving last, stepped through the door wearing a look of despair. He crossed his brown arms. “Remember what happened last time? I dearly hope?”

“Don’t worry, Granddaddy, we’re going someplace even you can’t complain about.” Peter waved his hands in the properly patronizing manner and Winston sucked his teeth, mentally measuring the distance between his fist, Peter’s face and the length of floor necessary to accommodate the psychologist when he went crashing down. Peter took an exaggerated step back and Janine giggled at them both.

“What dimension are you showing us, again, Raymond? The Parlor? As in ‘Step into my Parlor,’ said the spider to the fly?’” Egon inquired, arms also crossed, disapproving.

“Parlor Omega Alpha Delta Seven Six Three.” Ray mumbled, entering the coordinates into the locater and entering another cookie into his mouth, seemingly without tasting it. “No, Egon, it’s safe and normal. As normal as a totally different timeline can be anyway. As for why we try to avoid nice places, Janine, it’s just safer to stay away. I mean the temptation to cross over and join in or interfere is too strong.”

“Oh.” Janine looked surprised. “I thought you two were just morbid.” She moved closer, eager to see.

“We are. And we do find the occasional gems. Here it is.” Ray announced. “Remember, we can’t interfere. What rule is that, Egon?” he asked, grinning with anticipation at his long-suffering friend.

Egon pushed his glasses up with a long finger and watched the portal begin to clarify, obviously curious despite himself. “That would be Firehouse Iron Clad Rule Number Seven. ‘Observe The United Federation of Planets’ Prime Directive and Do Not Screw Around With Other Worlds.’” Egon rolled his eyes at Ray, the Trekkie. “An excellent rule, considering the trouble we’ve gotten into in the past. Are the sight screens up?”

“Of course they are, Egon, what do you take us for?” Peter looked insulted.

“I apologize.”

The wavering lights became still and were replaced with the warm glow of oil lamps and a fire in the cozy hearth of what looked to be a comfortably lived-in Nineteenth Century drawing room decked out in baubles, gifts and evergreens. Silver ribbons were twined around the austere family portraits. Every available nook and corner was stuffed with mistletoe and holly. Golden moonlight streamed in and everyone noted the two moons visible through the lace curtains of the bay windows. Ray dimmed the basement lights to highlight the effect and all four non-surfers exclaimed with wonder and delight. Peter and Ray shared a smug glance at their friends’ predictable reaction.

“Ooh!” Janine exclaimed. “Dickens! A Dickens Christmas with two moons! Look at that!” Janine stood on her tiptoes to catch a glance of the outside. There were cobblestone streets, turreted gingerbread houses and a glowing brilliance the moons lavished upon the falling snow and the bustle of the horse-drawn carriages. A lamp-lighter was, of course, lighting the gas powered street lamps, each one ringed with holly, and tipping his cap to friends and acquaintances as they rushed by on their holiday shopping errands, well bundled in colorful hand-knit mufflers and hand-sewn overcoats.

“Watson, the game is afoot! Call me a cab!” Winston exclaimed, delighted.

“Okay, you’re a cab, Sherlock.”

“Oh, that was bad, Peter.” Winston shook his head in disgust.

“Well, I can’t score every time.” Peter shrugged philosophically.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.”

“Shut up, Winston.”

Ray was overjoyed. Christmas! What perfect timing! He soaked up the absolute wonder beaming from every face beside him. God, his friends were so beautiful when they were smiling and enjoying themselves. His attention was torn between the people he loved and the seasonal slice of heaven before him. “Isn’t this wonderful?” Ray enthused, “We had no idea it’d be Christmas. It was summer in the Parlor just an hour ago so time must move differently between here and there but this is perfect! This is…” Strident, enraged voices coming from outside the Parlor door interrupted him and his face fell. “This is trouble.”

“No, I won’t!”

“Yes, you will!”

The door flew open and a young Victorian miss dressed in yards and yards of rich blue fabric decorated with bows of grey ribbon stormed into the room. She was too young to be used to her new hoop skirts and she was awkward. She was clutching a large painting to her chest and her cheeks were flaming with red rage. “Father, I won’t! I won’t paint a corpse!”

“Ewwwww!” Peter sympathized. “You tell him, Sweetheart.” Ray glanced over at Peter and then quickly looked away.

Father was a portly little man with a bald head, mutton-chop side whiskers and an ostentatious gold watch chain attached to his green velvet vest. His face was florid, too. “It’s but a miniature, Ophelia! A miniature of Old Lady Smythe with a lock of her hair built into the casing and angels and sunbeams and other such heavenly nonsense all about. What’s wrong with that?”

Ophelia’s curls bounced dangerously as she shook her head at her father. “What’s wrong with that? Old Lady Smythe has been dead for two weeks!”

“Well, they can’t bury her until the ice melts out of the ground. As cold as it is she’s kept very well so why not paint a portrait?”

Peter made a loud gagging noise and crumpled to the ground. Winston gave him a supportive pat on the back. Peter hated bugs but he hated dead things even more. Janine was rubbing at her mouth, trying to hide the grin that threatened to beam forth at his unease. Egon was studying Ophelia’s ungainly dress. He leaned towards Janine.

“Compared to her you’re as naked as an Amazon,” he observed with detachment.

Janine placed one hand on her chest and the other on her miniskirt in an imitation of the very-modest Venus De Milo and feigned insulted shock. “Egon! I’m not naked!”

“No, she’s NEKKID!” Peter howled from the floor and clapped his hands.

“Nekkid! Go Janine!” Ray laughed, joining in the applause.

Egon turned red. “I didn’t mean it like that.." Winston started to wolf whistle and Janine went into a scandalized swoon. Amidst the laughter Egon finally caught on. “Oh, shut up. All of you.” A shout of sincere pain and outrage from the Portal captured everyone’s attention again. Father had yanked the painting out of his daughter’s hands and was holding it up in front of her face.

“I suppose you think this over-imaginative magical foolishness will hang in the Louvre someday? You’ll never make a living painting magic!” he bellowed.

“Should we be watching this? This isn’t television, you all realize.” Winston mentioned. He was universally ignored. “Who wants some popcorn, then?” he asked sarcastically, hands on hips.

“I do. With lots of butter.” Peter answered, pulling himself up onto a stool comfortably.

“Me, too.”

“And me. With garlic salt on the side.”

“I want mine with just plain salt and no butter.”

Winston ignored them in turn.

“Miniatures will make money!” Father was shouting.

“Magic makes me happy! There are many magical paintings in the Louvre! Mystical, mythological and magical!!” Ophelia answered grabbing her painting back. Ray noticed that it was a rather well-done rendering of a female knight, reminiscent of Joan of Arc, fighting a fire-breathing dragon. How appropriate, he thought.

“There is no such thing as magic! Not now, not then, not tomorrow, not ever! There Is No Magic!” Father roared, perfectly purple now. Ophelia looked ready to slam her artistic effort down over his head.

“There IS magic! I swear!” Ophelia’s voice broke and a violent tear streamed down her face. Janine made a strange little whining noise of sympathy. Ray’s hand crept towards the controls.

“Idiocy! Sheer idiocy! There is no mag…AIGH!!!” Father’s face went white as he caught a strange motion out of the corner of his eye. He stepped back in horror. Ophelia turned to see what had frightened him and gave an astounded shriek.

With a shock the voyeuristic crew on the other side of the portal realized they had become visible. “Ray! The sight shields!” Peter yelled.

“Oops, I must have leaned on them. Hey, over there! Merry Christmas! Peace on Earth and Good Will and all that!” Ray called out to the dumbfounded Victorians and raised the shields again.

“RAAYYY!!!!”

“It was an accident! I swear!”

Ophelia staggered to sit in a parlor chair and her hoop skirts flew up revealing ridiculous lace pantaloons. She struggled to bring her dress down again as Janine and Winston whooped with laughter. Father mopped his head with a white handkerchief and took deep, bracing breaths. He waited a moment but no more impossibilities were forthcoming. “Ophelia, my dear girl, the fire has gotten to us both. Let’s rejoin the party.” Utterly deflated he staggered out the door. Ophelia clumsily stood…and hesitated. She looked in the direction of her unseen watchers with wide eyes.

“Oh, that poor thing!” Janine laughed and clapped her hands with delight.

“What are you happy for?” Winston asked.

“She was right!” Janine grinned at Ray and he smiled back not very sheepishly.

The victor began forcing herself forward inch by inch. As Ophelia reached the wall her observers were rather smitten with her bravery and amazement. Ray watched, fascinated, as she boldly reached out. He knew she could feel nothing but wall. Suddenly, she reminded him of Alice, trying to find a way into the Looking Glass and her look of wonder alone justified his unfortunate ‘accident.’ She moved away and picked up the painting that had fallen from her insensate fingers when the strange tableau of four terribly tall men and one half-naked woman had appeared on the parlor wall. She set it face up on the floor and scooted it against the wall with her foot as an obvious offering. Vindicated, Ophelia’s sudden smile was like the sun rising. Then she, too, trotted out the door, her hoops bouncing ridiculously.

Janine’s “Awwwwww!” echoed around the basement.

Ray turned to the controls again and flicked the proper switches. The portal extended its protective force-field to include both basement and parlor as it emitted a bombardment of invisible radiation that was deadly to all forms of microorganism within a hundred yards. Both worlds safe from infectious disease Ray walked over, reached out his hand and picked up the painting. Admiring the bright dragon flames Ray returned to spin the dials and the portal became blurry again as the Parlor was left behind.  
“And Happy New Year!” Ray announced with finality and grabbed up another cookie. He set his new painting aside and looked around for a perfect spot to hang it. Winston wore a look of amused resignation and Janine continued to smile. Egon’s face was blank. Peter, however…

He was furious. “Happy New Year? Ray, are you nuts? You ‘leaned on the controls’ my ass! Thanks to you, she believes in magic, now.”

Ray looked up, surprised. “She believed in it before,” he began.

“But you proved it! How else is she going to explain what she saw? Or that painting disappearing? She’s going to go looking for magic, now, and she‘ll get herself killed or worse when she finds it!” Peter was waving his arms wildly and no one was amused or smiling now.

“She has a better chance of getting struck by lightning, twice, than finding magic and you know it.” Ray’s chin was up. “There is such a thing as magic in the world after all.”

“Don’t tell me there’s magic, I know damn well there’s magic!” Peter’s hand rose to his forehead and he forced it down. “AIIGH! The First, the very first, Iron Clad Rule of the Firehouse, people?!” Peter called.

“No Magic Allowed!” Ray answered him. “Peter, I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“How do you know?”

Ray finally lost his temper and interrupted Peter’s rant. “D’you really think I’ve killed that girl, Peter? Or did I just stop them fighting at Christmas? You’ve always said rules were made to be broken, I suppose if you had done it we’d all be laughing about it?” Peter suddenly looked aghast. Ray took a deep breath, trying to regain calm. God, he hated being mad. “Yeah, rules were made to be broken, Peter! I think I’ll break this one.” Ray jumped down to ground level.

“Ray, wait,” Peter started.

“Jinx! Jinx! Jinx, Baby!” Ray shouted back, flicking his fingers at Peter in the most evil, outrageous way. He looked like Fat Vegas Elvis gone horribly, horribly wrong. Winston snorted and Janine cracked up, a little too loudly, breaking the tension even further. Egon glared.

Peter blew out a relieved whoosh of air and followed along with Ray’s improvisation. Grabbing Janine by the shoulders he jumped behind her. “Please don’t break the Number One Rule, Ray! I’ve got too many mental, emotional, and scrotal scars because of magic!” Janine made a disgusted sound and jerked away from Peter’s cowardly grip.

“With all the hexes, spells, potions, incantations, and curses that have gone so horribly wrong around here you two shouldn’t even joke about it,” Egon snapped. Ray’s hands went limp at his sides.

Janine looked up at Egon, her eyes suddenly worried and dark. “Egon, drop it.”

Egon obviously wasn’t ready to drop it. “And, as an expert on the Occult, you, Ray, should know better than to encourage mystical leanings in anyone.” Ray turned on Egon, anger simmering again.

“Everybody relax,” Winston ordered. “There’s no magic here and there never will be magic here. Intentionally anyway.” He shot a reproving glance at Egon. “Ray was just having a little fun.” Egon drew in breath to refute Winston and Ray put his hands on his hips, ready for a good nine rounds.

“Guys, c’mon. Everything’s okay.” Janine’s hand was palm up, begging for peace.

Peter was helplessly rubbing his forehead again. “Stop! Stop it now, both of you. All of us. I’m sorry, Ray. It was wrong and stupid of me to blow up at you like that. Egon, darling, what do you have to say?”

“I have a great deal to say,” Egon started.

“Egon! I started this, I want to end it now, that okay with you?” Peter raised his eyebrows at the tall man. “Please?”

Egon looked at his best friend. His eyes traced the cobweb thin scars on Peter’s forehead, half-hidden by heavy chocolate-brown bangs. He turned away from Peter and backed down. “I’m sorry as well, Raymond.” Egon glanced over at Ray’s chest, suddenly ashamed to look him in the eyes. “I, ah, I worry too much.”

Winston and Janine made apologetic noises though they had nothing to be sorry about. Keeping the peace often meant apologizing whether they were blameless or not.

Ray went red and retreated back to the Portal. Look at what he’d caused now. He just had to get mad. Geez. “Oh, guys, don’t be sorry! Everything’s fine. I really shouldn’t have done it. Really.” Ray grinned and put a hand over his heart to show his sincerity. “And I promise No Magic, ever, ever, ever, amen!” He saw Peter force himself to stop rubbing his forehead and felt a crystal-clear shard of sympathy pierce him. Considering all that Venkman had been through he was actually handling this discussion with great calm. “I promise,” He repeated.

 _Oh, sweetheart, is magic really so bad? All this fuss you’re making._ the memory of Ray's mother’s voice purred in his ear. He shook his head, dismissing it as usual. And as usual, he felt a surge of guilt for doing so. He cautiously looked at his friends, smile firmly fixed on his face, to make sure they hadn’t seen him denying a voice that wasn’t there. They hadn’t. He wolfed down another cookie.

Winston changed the subject with a disturbing thought. “Nobody’s going to believe that poor kid.”

“Aw, Winston,” Janine smiled. “She won’t tell. She’s a girl and only about thirteen. If I were thirteen, and something phenomenally wonderful happened to me, and I say what just happened was wonderful, then I would keep quiet for the rest of my life. My own secret, mine all mine.”

“What happened to you at thirteen, Janine?” Peter shrewdly guessed, leaning close and staring down at her accusingly.

A brief look of remembered wonder glowed in her eyes and Ray smiled to see it. Gosh, she was pretty when she wasn’t screaming into the phone or at Peter. “Sorry. It’s mine.” she said.

“C’mon! Spill your guts, Janine.” Peter demanded with a Victorian Fatherly voice.

“Nope. Mine, mine, mine.” She turned her gaze to the ceiling and refused to say another word and Ray could tell she was intentionally pulling attention further away from the upsetting scene that had occurred. He was grateful.

Winston interrupted, helping Janine pull. “Then what about Ophelia's dad?”

“I believe if ‘Father’ wishes to retain his position in society, and the business world, it would be in his best interest to keep quiet as well,” Egon answered.

Ray decided a little more play would restore everyone’s equilibrium even more. He turned to the Portal again. “Where to next? Another nice place?”

Peter looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping his lips with a forefinger. “Dickensland was nice but my teeth are rotting. We need some salt with our sugar, I think. Hey, Ray, while I'm cowering over there show these poor guys ‘Mordor!’” Peter turned completely around and rushed back to lean against the far wall. Taking a cue from this, the others also moved away leaving Ray alone at the Portal’s edge to work the increasingly chocolate covered controls.

“Here’s Peter’s personal nightmare!” Ray announced and Peter threw an arm over his eyes with a groan. The lights of the gateway between worlds began to flash until…

“Yecch!” Janine and Winston decided in unison. Egon gravely seconded their opinion and the three looked with disgust and dismay at the view before them. Peter refused to look at ‘Mordor’ again. The contrast between this dimension and the last was painful to see. It was like being awakened from a lovely dream by a cruel punch in the gut.

Black, hopeless, twisted and miserable but vitally alive, Mordor had no real sky. Just a grey and monotone miasma that extended down to the tops of blackened stone spires. Bizzarely enough, the unhealthy fog seemed unaffected by the constant wind. A quiver of motion brought all eyes to the ground. The fitful dim light reflected off shiny insectile carapaces and swampy puddles of bubbling water. The mud writhed with mean and terrible life.

Mordor crawled.

Ray lowered the sight screens again and, on cue, an enormous, reptilian beast slouched into view, forked tongue flicking hungrily in Janine’s direction. Its eyes glowed green without blinking. She withstood its cold, predatory evaluation of her for only a moment before she broke. “That’s it, goodbye!” Janine turned for the door and almost ran into Winston. Peter was still refusing to look and Egon was absorbed with the locater’s bio-reading of the beast. Winston was merely gazing philosophically at the nightmare illuminating the basement. Observing his friend’s reactions again, Ray was mildly insulted by Winston’s blasé attitude.

“Winston!” Ray called, Janine turned back. “Don’t you like this one?” He waved grandly at the scene and noticed that the grey light cast a huge shadow of his hands over his housemates. He wiggled his fingers. “Hey, look! A giant rabbit!” Even Peter looked up long enough to enjoy Ray’s impromptu shadow puppets. “An elephant!”

“Ray, you’re blocking the view, speaking of elephants,” Peter teased.

Ray adopted a terrible Scottish accent. “Hey, I’m dead sexy!” He threw a generous hip to one side and struck a pose. “I’ve got a dead sexy body!”

“You’ve got body-acceptance anyway, Poppin’ Fresh,” Peter began but Janine’s glare prevented him from finishing. Winston and Egon laughed.

“Thanks, Janine!” Unfazed, Ray brought his hands together again. “Look! A bird!”

“Rodan!” Janine bolted past Winston, pursued by the enormous flapping wings of a giant shadow bird and even more chuckling. She escaped into the hall, then turned back for a moment. “I’m going to pick up lunch. See if you guys can stay out of trouble for ten minutes, okay?”

“We can only try,” Egon’s amused bass voice answered her as Ray’s King Kong shadow hand tried in vain to capture her around the waist. Then she was gone.

Ray moved away from the light. “Seriously, Winston, isn’t this the most awful dimension you’ve ever seen?”

“Eehhh,” Winston shrugged, unimpressed. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Worse than that!” Peter was appalled. “Some of those bugs are as big as my fist!” He made a fist and shook it in the general direction of the screen, still refusing to look directly at it.

“I don’t like ‘em but my hell is not full of bugs,” Winston grinned. “King Bats, maybe, but not bugs.”

“Where have you seen worse?” Egon asked, genuinely wondering.

Winston pointed his thumb in the direction of the street. “Right outside. Come and see.”

Winston turned and led the way as his teammates obediently followed like cattle. Moo, Ray thought. Up the basement steps, across the garage and up even more flights of stairs the four men journeyed the entire three-story length of the firehouse and emerged on the roof. The sticky, hot July humidity wrapped around them immediately. Winston indicated the sky with a flourish.

“Yecch, again.” Ray spoke for them all. Billowing black storm clouds churned with an oppressive intensity over the city of New York. An awful, sickly green glow, reminiscent of tornado weather, illuminated their faces and made the healthy men seem cadaverous. The wail of sirens blasted their ears as fire trucks raced down the street below. In the distance, brown and unhealthy smoke spiraled up to mix with the ominous clouds.

Lightning exploded across the sky, thousands of volts of deadly electricity illuminated the fearfully scuttling sewer rats as they scuttled through the mounds of refuse abandoned on the street by the garbage men of the city, who just happened to be On Strike again. Thunder rumbled through their very bones and a few drops of rain began to fall.

“There’s no place like home,” Peter observed sourly as he watched a news helicopter begin to stalk a police helicopter steadily spotlighting a hopelessly fleeing criminal on the streets below. Perhaps it had something to do with the fire. Who knew? Egon and Winston seemed ill.

“It’s not this bad all the time!” Ray defensively looked over his city. Another flash of lightning lit up his face and he gave up. “Ah, well. Shoot. I’m glad Miss Victorian Ophelia never saw this wondrous sight.”

“She saw me. That was wonder enough,” Peter said.

Ray rolled his eyes.

“Ray,” Peter started. He hesitated and drew in a guilty breath. “I really am sorry for jumping on your case back there.”

“Peter, don’t.” Ray felt spotlighted, too, and uncomfortable.

“No, let me finish, I…”

“I mean it, Peter. Don’t.” A steady and stubborn tone of iron emphasized Ray’s words. “C’mon, it’s already forgotten.” Please, please forget it. Let the world rotate in peace. Let everyone lapse back into happy, happy, joy, joy.

Winston changed the subject. It seemed to be his day for it. “Man, I wish people had come flying out of the walls when I tried to convince my dad that there was more to the world than just the things he could see, hear, taste, touch and smell.” He leaned his elbows on the wall. “Mama believed me, I think. Or, at least she supported me when the arguments started up. These days she’s all fascinated by our business and she’s driving Dad nuts. Dad swears he doesn’t know anything about anything anymore and would we all please shut up?” Winston spared a snicker for Big Ed Zeddemore’s difficulties.

Peter gave up trying to bore a hole into Ray’s head with his eyes, much to Ray’s relief, and grinned. “My mom was a believer, too. She had too much Irish in her not to believe, I think. God, ghosts and the little people were alive and well in her mind and our house, I loved it. She told the best stories.” Peter paused. “Dad believes whatever he needs to in order to get his way with people. Feh.” He stuck out his tongue, disgusted. “What about you Egon?”

“Like Winston’s dad my own father was bound by the need for empirical evidence to believe in anything. What he believes now, I really can’t say nor do I care to find out. Of course, Mother is practically the Sixth Ghostbuster.”

Peter slapped his palms together in a quick round of applause for Mrs. Ariadne Spengler. “She was so great against the Blood Hags. ‘Get your filthy hands off my son, you Crones!’ ZAP! BLAM! I love that woman!” Peter enthused.

Egon stood straight and tall as pride radiated from every inch of him. “One of her finest moments. She loves you, too, Peter. Very much. What about your parents, Raymond?” Ray was scratching a pattern into the brick wall with a thumbnail. “Raymond?”

“Earth to Ray!” Peter shouted.

Ray jumped. “Oh! Sorry. I’m…Y’know, I really don’t remember much, they died when I was thirteen, but Dad was the practical type, too. He told me stories, though, The Monkey’s Paw and such like that. He was great, I remember that.” He gazed at the indigo clouds. He thought about saying more but visibly stopped himself. Lapse back into happy, happy…

“What about your mom?” Peter asked gently.

“My mom?” Ray tried to throw a stoic mask over his grief and guilt.

“Yeah, Yo Mama. What did she believe in? How great was she?” Peter’s green eyes were compassionate but sharp. Too sharp.

Ray realized Peter could see right through him. Of course he could, Peter sees everything, he’s like a goddamned Argus. Ray whipped around. “Oh, she was all right, too. I better go shut off the portal. All we need is a power surge when it’s open.” Feeling hounded and depressed, for more reasons than the ugly atmosphere of the city, he bounded towards the stairs and disappeared.

 

 

Peter watched him go then helplessly raised his face to the sporadic drops of rain. “Damn, the ‘magic’ fight upset him. I’m such a friggin’ idiot.”

“C’mon, Pete, you’ve been through a lot thanks to sorcery. You’re entitled to lose your cool every once in a while,” Winston decided.

“Am I allowed the same respite for my part in the argument?” Egon asked him hopefully.

“No. You’re going straight to hell, Evil Bastard.”

“I surmised as much.” Egon threw his head back in a mocking imitation of Peter’s anguish and the psychologist laughed at them both. He decided to explain himself.

“That’s not why I’m an idiot, Winston,” Peter said. “Not _just_ that. Lately, I’ve…well, I’ve noticed that the more we lean on Ray’s Occult knowledge the more upset he gets. I mean, we’ve been busting a lot more than ghosts this past year. The Blood Hags alone almost sent him into therapy.”

Winston turned around in surprise. “I’ve noticed that, too. He gets touchy. Defensive. He was ready to throw down with Egon.”

“Not only that but I think, I mean, I’m beginning to suspect that the occult had something to do with his parents' deaths.” Peter’s voice was pained.

Egon startled. “They died in a house fire while Ray was at camp. Why do you think the accident was paranormal?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I have absolutely no proof. His Mom might have done something since he absolutely refuses to acknowledge her existence. I don’t know.” Peter tilted his head back to the light rain again but quickly brought it down as he remembered Egon’s mimicry. “Just one of my Venkman Pseudo-Psychic Bullshit Hunches. Patent pending.”

“For ‘bullshit’ you’re consistently right, still. But no proof is driving you crazy, huh, Nostradamus?” Winston sympathized.

“As usual. I don’t know what happened or what it has to do with his Mom and Ray won’t talk to me. He doesn’t want to ‘upset’ me. He’s got a point, too, especially after the way I just behaved. Damn. They’re going to take my psychology license away.”

“He’ll fall eventually, Pete, don’t get discouraged,” Winston said.

Peter sighed. “Thanks, Winston. And ‘eventually’ nothing! Soon. It’s all coming to a crisis, I can feel it, and I know I can help him. He’ll talk to me, even if I have to bring on the Spanish Inquisition’s finest to help me break him. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” he muttered.

“I’m sure it would take a great deal of torture before Ray, the most stubborn person I know, will open up on that particular subject, Peter,” Egon said. “It’s going to take time, Freud,” Egon said. Peter didn’t answer and Egon sighed.

Another flash ripped across the sky. Again, Peter noted the contrast between their world and their Dickensian experience was disheartening and obvious. The storm was breaking.

Breaking fast.

“Soon. It’s all going to blow up soon,” said a low, sleepy voice.

“What Peter?” Winston asked.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out of his semi-trance. “I mean…hell, I don’t know what I meant. Ignore me.” Peter himself ignored the gooseflesh that had suddenly risen on his skin. Gazing at the sickenly churning sky, he said “Bleah. I don’t know about you guys but I’m heading for the hills. No, I’m leaving for the tropics on the very next banana boat,” he decided. “Daylight come and me wan go home! C’mon, guys.” He, Egon and Winston turned their backs on the squalling wind and headed in.

“The tropics my ass. I’m going to the mountains.” Winston’s face became dreamy. “Fresh, cool mountain air and clean mountain streams. Where are you running away to, Egon?”

“I would prefer a dense, deciduous forest. With a lake.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled.

The hair on Peter’s arms stood up straight and his wristwatch began to vibrate. He stared at his arms, surprised, and suddenly realized what it meant. “DOWN! GET DOWN!” he shouted, horrified.

The three battle-conditioned men immediately threw themselves out of the way as a bolt of electric death struck the place they had been standing. They curled into panicked balls as the smell of ozone filled their lungs. Blinded by the pure light they covered their faces.

The flash was gone.

Unrolling like dazed pillbugs they looked around. Peter felt a new electrical build-up in his hair and on his skin. Even the fillings in his teeth began to thrum with the increasing charge and he lurched towards the door.

“MOVEMOVEMOVE!!!” Leaping on all fours after him Winston and Egon were immediately behind him when another bolt struck, the indirect force of it pushing them all forwards into each other. Slamming against the wood, Peter reached up, grabbed for the doorknob and hung on, forgetting, in his fear, that his objective was to turn it and go in. Egon and Winston were unable to think even that far ahead and the three men clung to each other.

And then it was over.

As if any sudden movement would attract the notice of more feral lightning they slowly struggled to their feet and numbly checked themselves for injuries. Egon blinked rapidly, long fingers stroking his naked face. Then he sank to the rooftop again and began to gently pat around with his hands.

The rain began to fall in earnest as Peter and Winston inspected the charred scoring of the rooftop. Wisps of smoke began to diminish as the shell-shocked men regained their breath. “The lights,” Winston muttered. “The lights are out all over the block.”

“Let’s go down and check the backup generator. I don’t hear any alarms so it should have kicked in okay but I want to make sure.” Peter said, still dazed. He saw a reflected gleam next to his feet and picked up Egon’s glasses. He pressed them into the scientist’s groping hand. “Here y’go, Velma.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

Peter managed to turn the doorknob, open the door and go in. Admiring his dexterity, the other two followed him downstairs. “Winston, put lightning rods on the shopping list,” he decreed.

“Gotcha.”

Peter made a couple of experimental hops. He was sound. He broke into a run. “RAYYYY!! We almost got Crispy Crittered! Twice!” Winston laughed and hurriedly pulled Egon after the mobile freak-out that was Peter Venkman.

“Ray?! Twice, Ray! We almost got fried twice! So much for the odds, huh?” Peter jumped breathlessly into the empty basement. “Ray? Aw, hell, he’s not here.” Dimly he could sense another barrage of thunder shaking the firehouse and spared a concerned thought for Janine and the lunch run she was making in the middle of the wickedest storm he’d ever seen.

Egon moved to check Ray’s most volatile experiments, trying to straighten the twists in his wire-frames as he went. Winston began a diagnostic on the Containment Unit. Luckily, everything seemed undamaged, the nuclear powered machinery still hummed softly but powerfully.

Peter moved towards the dark Dimensional Locater. “At least Ray shut off the portal in time. I’d hate to think of Mordor’s nasties busting through the shield to our side.” His eyes moved over the controls and his stomach suddenly rolled. He hissed, “Guys!”

“What?” Alarmed, Egon and Winston moved to his side.

“The shut off sequence wasn’t completed. Looks like the power surge killed the locater before Ray could completely shut it down. Look.” Peter flicked a dead switch on and off. “Ray wouldn’t leave the portal like this. Where is he?”

Winston cocked his head and listened. Egon and Peter became quiet. Motes of dust floated loudly down.

There was no sound. “RAYMOND!” Egon shouted in a bass voice that could penetrate every corner of the three-story building. There was no answer. No life.

“Empty. The firehouse is empty.” Winston muttered. Peter’s heart began to double-time it in fear as another rumble of thunder shook through the world. “Where’s Ray?”

 

**********************************************

 

Mordor. Mordor looked like Ray felt. Empty. Hungry. Lonely. The grey murk made the graveyard of jagged stone spires indefinable and coated everything it touched with black, bitter-tasting dust. It formed a thick, unhealthy skin over the oily puddles of water and rustling thickets of vegetation that made up Ray’s Bog, his chief source of water.

Mordor. Where the cold, piercing wind didn’t blow…

…it sucked.

How did this happen? How? Ray shook his head in a sharp gesture of disbelief. Finding no acceptable answers, and expecting none, really, he left his brief moment of rest behind and turned back to his work.

Another sharp boulder positioned just right and the wall blocking the mouth of Ray's sheltered cave on a hilltop, well on it’s way towards becoming a fort, was rebuilt again. Working with his hands and his mind, as he tried to devise a structure that couldn’t be torn down, kept him from dwelling on his desperate problems. He crawled inside, away from the chilling wind that never seemed to affect the perpetual fog. He distinctly preferred walling himself up in stone than staying outside. The distinct boundaries of the surrounding cave felt less claustrophobic than the horizon-less grey waste of the land. He plugged the entrance behind him with another boulder.

The third day had been the worst. Ray had once read a New York Times interview of a homeless woman who maintained that her hunger pains would lessen after three days. If you can just get past the third day, she said, then the meals could come as infrequently as you pleased. You got used to the hunger, it becomes a part of you.

Ray's third day had come and gone and he was relieved to note that that poor woman had been right. The intolerable wrenching pain in his stomach had subsided to a strong ache in his entire body as exhaustion and weakness set in and his shock had worn off.

Ray was now on his fourth day. Four long, miserable days in this strange, frightening dimension. He rubbed sticky grit out of his eyes and left black streaks on his fingers. The fear and the unreality of his situation had been exhausting but the worst part now was the waiting. Ray was waiting for his friends to come. Waiting to go home at last. Waiting for a chili cheese hot dog and a coke to appear before him in a burst of pixie dust.

He blew a violent and resigned breath out of his lungs and crawled out of his blocked cave. No better time like the present. Ray walked to the edge of the nearest dank puddle and kneeled down, skimming the oily dust away with one hand. Ray inspected his reflection. He was a pudgy, exhausted man with auburn hair and laugh lines around his amber brown eyes. However, pudgy was the definitive word. He must have gained ten pounds since the Blood Hags incident alone.

"Y'know," Ray said to the man in the mud. "You'd probably live up to two months without food, considering all the reserves you've got stored up."

An eerie howl in the distance brought his head up sharply. It was not the wind and it was not the first time he'd heard it. "But you see," he continued, "You really need to keep your strength up. So."

He bent over the stinking water again and stirred up the goop with both hands. He felt something squirm under his fingers and he captured it quickly. The thing, whatever it was, was small and nasty, segmented, with no eyes and too many waving legs. Ray spoke to it with regret. "I'm sorry. I really am. But I've got to hold out until the guys get here."

Hoping it wasn't too poisonous he flicked the mud off, stuffed it into his mouth and bit down, killing it. He chewed. Maybe it was the hunger but it wasn't as foul as he thought it would be. Its juices had a stinging citrus quality. His hungry body compulsively swallowed it.

A chilled shudder shook him. Repulsed down to his toes he still smiled, cracking the dry skin on his lips. "Slimy yet...satisfying."

Sighing, he resolutely dug through the muck again, singing softly to himself. "Hakuna Matata! It's a problem freeeeee philosopheeeee! Hakuna Matata!"

 

******************************************************

 

“He’s through! He got pulled through! Calm down!” Peter shouted at himself. He followed his own order and stopped gripping his hair. As one, he and Winston jumped to detach the Locater's control panel covering to assess the extent of the damage. They flipped the shell of the unit carelessly behind them and it landed with a dull clang that echoed around the terribly empty basement lab.

Egon attacked the Locater's computerized coordination system. “The last dimension was ‘Mordor?’ Is that the actual name or a nickname?”

“Ray’s nickname for it. The actual name is Zero Gamma Alpha Gamma. O GAG for short. Christ, we just found it. We just named it,” Peter answered through his teeth. Egon turned to the computer and began to reboot it. Peter ran his hands down the strips and bundles of multicolored wires and found no fraying, melting or breakage. He double-checked every inch. “The connectors are good. Zed?”

Winston finished his last test of several dials and switches. “The controls are alright. Looks like the lightning gave it a good jolt and shorted the shields but the breaker absorbed most of the voltage. No damage. Hardware operational.” He turned to Egon expectantly.

“Power on.” Egon slapped his hand down on the garishly painted ON/OFF switch and the lines began to hum. “Software diagnostic and reboot will be completed in four minutes.”

“We’re going in as soon as it’s up. Winston get your med kit and I'll get the firepower.”

“Right, Peter.”

They thoughtlessly left Egon alone, watching the recalibration process in stony, frightened silence, as they ran to prepare for their rescue mission. Peter remembered the slow, deliberate flick of the giant lizard’s tongue and ran faster.

The Portal remained dark.

 

*********************************************

 

“Dark. Damn, its dark.” Ray put aside his new weapon with disgust after cutting himself for the fourth time in the last half hour. Twice on his hands, once on his foot and once on his eyebrow, the result of bringing the deadly instrument closer and closer to his face as the light waned for the day. Time to stop before he put out an eye. And, really, the day was not so much ‘light’ as it was an absence of complete dark. He took a deep breath and coughed. Stupid dust. It was so fine and insidious he couldn’t draw a decent breath anymore. Also, his leg hurt, the shallow claw cuts there had been bothering him for days.

“Whine, whine, whine,” Ray muttered.

His concentration waylaid, the hunger pain came back with a vengeance. He remembered a delightful story that Stephen King had evidently worked hard on. A pilot, smuggling drugs, had crash-landed on a deserted island with only an enormous bag of heroin for company and no food. With the help of the numbing opiate and a pocketknife this guy had eaten his own legs and was finally reduced to eating his fingers right off of his hands before he died. “'Lady-fingers. They taste just like Lady-fingers,'” Ray muttered and bit into his knuckle. “Actually, I prefer apple fritters.” He spit a flake of mud out of his mouth and got up to take advantage of the last of the light.

He walked to his swivel boulder at the entrance of his cave and crouched for a moment, listening to see if it was safe to go outside. He clapped his hands together explosively. Sometimes the shock of the sound made whatever was lurking outside jump and give itself away. Nothing. Ray wormed his way out of his hole and stood, taking a good look around for any movement. He had cleared the area outside of his new home the best he could and there was little cover left for predators or himself. It was a perfect killing field.

Walking to his favorite watering hole, what he affectionately termed a buffalo wallow, he began to dig around with his hands. The trick was not to get so distracted by grubbing in the mud that he would fail to notice any of the greater predators creeping up behind him. He had come to realize that he was, himself, a large animal and completely unfamiliar to the local population so the fear he generated was his greatest weapon, but he needed more. Shouting, leaping, and intimidation could only protect him so far.

As to nutrition, he was no biologist but he had the vague impression, found somewhere in a medical journal, or Bram Stoker’s 'Dracula,' that the vitamin content in insects were quite high. A larger animal could survive very well off a constant, squirmy-wormy diet.

The problem in Mordor, however, was finding those creepers and crawlers that wouldn't kill him with poison or were, at least, digestible. And they were mighty few. Of those few, many were infested with putrid parasitic larvae and Ray had dry-heaved for over an hour when he first cracked open one of those, luckily in his hands and not his mouth.

Once he had had the notion of setting out for more hospitable climes, if any were to be found, but he had only gone a half-mile before spotting a fourteen-foot reptilian creature. Ray was unhappily reminded of a Komodo Dragon. Komodos drooled. Ropes of viscous saliva drips from their maws, full of flesh eating necrotic bacteria. If a Komodo Dragon bit you, you weren’t poisoned. You were fatally infected with disease as your skin and muscles began to rot. Ray thought ‘necrotic bacteria’ with a shudder of horror.

He had looked at the slime dripping from the beak of the creature. Disease or poison? Either way, talk about a Medically Important bite just dying to happen. The thing had gazed at him with a single-minded interest through its glowing predatory eyes and Ray had turned on his heel and high-tailed it back to his cave. The beast decided to err on the side of caution and did not follow.

Retreating, Ray had encountered three four-footers and two six-footers of the same deadly species that had obviously been trailing him and realized that only his very strangeness had saved his life.

The scrounging was bad today. It was bad every day. He gave up and crawled back inside. Ray didn’t hunt so much as scavenge and edible creatures were scarce. Though grateful for the human ability to throw rocks, his greatest advantage in this hellhole, he decided he could stand to evolve his technology a little bit further. He hoped his new weapon would enable him to leave his black pit of a cave more often. “The walls are a closin’ in!” Ray complained.

Hoping for sleep, and good dreams, for a change, he lay down on the stone floor, wrapped his arms around himself for comfort and closed his eyes. He felt a crawling sensation in his hair and scratched. Too bad the mites were too small to eat. “Yuck.”

He was proud of the weapon. If he got home, “WHEN, not IF I get home!” he was going to write a thank-you letter to novelist Jean Auel, if she was still living when he returned. Her ‘Earth’s Children’ series, detailing the lives of a hard-hit Cro Magnon woman, Ayla, included detailed descriptions of her hunting equipment and how Ayla and Co. made them. The detailed descriptions of Cro Magnon sex rituals were pretty damn enlightening, too. Ray grinned. He could just hear Peter teasing him about his choice of reading material all over again, “Caveman Porn! I can’t believe you’re reading Caveman Porn!”

“Aw, Peter, you’re just jealous. Just because you don’t have the Ice Age’s biggest schlong like Jondalar of the Zelandonii's.”

“Oh, god, kill me now.”

Despite the more wanton aspects of Auel’s literature there were still some great things to be learned. Ray’s weapon was a triumph of Cro Magnon design with a few modern adaptions. Taking a large leg bone of a Howler lizard, picked clean by the insectoids, he had soaked it in water, along with his leather shoelaces, for a week. He spent that week fortifying his home and sharpening his house keys. The gouges he made on the stone floor of his cave were deep as he patiently wore his keys down into what could best be described as shanks. Fine examples of what hardened, murderous prisoners made when they sharpened up silverware stolen from jail cafeterias.

He had carefully split one end of the softened leg bone (a process that took several attempts and several ruined bones) and inserted the shanks at intervals within the crack. He tied his shoelaces around and between the barbs. When the leather and bone dried it would shrink and tighten mercilessly, around the steel. Ray would have a slashing tool of destruction to be very proud of. “Thank you, Jeanie Auel!”

He had been tying the second shoelace when it became too dark to see. Strips of his shirt tied his ragged shoes now.

Scratch, scratch, scratch!

Ray groaned. Here they come again. Nocturnal visitors drawn by his smell, his noise, his very body heat. He picked up his primitive protection again and lay with it on his chest, careful of the sharp steel. Its very weight reassured him.

“What should I name you? Not ‘Ol Betsy. We’ve already got an ‘Ol Betsy back at the firehouse.” Ray remembered a good Far Side cartoon. A caveman was pointing to a diagram of the spiked tail of a Stegasaurus. He was lecturing, “This part is called the Thagomizer. Named after the late Thag Simmons.” Ray laughed. “Perfect! You’re the Thagomizer!”

He spoke to himself out of a desire for comfort as well as to cover the sound of the frenzied scratching of that creature, a five-footer by the sound of it, trying to break into his fortress to get at the miserable human morsel inside. Ah, but Ray was not an engineering genius for nothing. He had blocked the mouth of his small cave with a rounded structure of the hardest stone. He could get in. He could get out. No other ravenous beast could, the sheer thickness and durability of his igloo of bone and boulders was an insurmountable challenge. Except for the mites. Damn, they bit. They bit and bit and bit and Ray understood very well how explorers in jungles went mad from the persistent attacks of predators no larger than the tip of a pin. The thick coating of mud on his body helped but the sensation of itchy, flaking, drying mud was almost as bad as the biters.

Scrape, scrape, scratch!

“I HEAR YOU KNOCKIN’ BUTCHA CAN'T COME INNNN!!!!” Ray screamed in his best Rock and Roll voice. The extra volume was bad for his chest and he started to cough again. Damn dust. The frustrated scratches became wild and Ray laughed, wheezing for air.

_It's not nice to tease the animals, sweetheart._

“Sorry, Mom.”

Unaware that he had spoken, Ray turned over on his side, swatting a stinging ‘bug’ he could feel, but not see, on his arm. His skin continued to move after he stopped, drooping to settle around him. Ray rolled his eyes, disgusted. His rapid weight loss had left him the original Saggy Baggy Elephant and he had more skin than meat on his suffering frame.

Meat. Food. Clear, clean water.

“At night I face, the barren waste without the taste of water. Cooolll waterrrrr. ‘Ol Dan and I, with throats burned dry must carry on. For water. Cool, clear water!” Ray sang. Peter’s favorite cowboy song didn’t make him feel better and he gave up.

The hunger pulled on every fiber in his body. He did not eat infrequently enough to become numb and the painful cravings wracked him every day. Every single moment of every single damn day. It was an emotional pain. A pain he could feel in the nerves of his neck, his hands, his hair and the grasping sinews of his arms. Every cell in his body craved. Every beat of his heart pulled at starving veins. It felt as if his teeth were growing longer and sharper through sore gums.

Hunger.

Constant hunger.

Such primal, predatory needs, and the steps he was forced to take to assuage them, were difficult for the kind man. More than animalistic, he felt vampiric. Vampiric enough to dream about drinking blood. Oh, the sensation of something rich and warm filling his stomach. His new understanding filled him with what could best be called a reluctant charity towards the Blood Hags and their ilk.

Food was food. If Ray could catch it he ate it. If it had been dead for three days he shook the bugs off and ate it. He ate the bugs, too, the ones that didn’t make him sick, anyway. Good food, good meat, good God, let’s eat. He had become as opportunistic as a scavenging vulture or a hyena and just as low and mean. Sagging and coated with grime like some sort of mud maggot.

Worse than that was a longing for warmth and human contact more devastating than any simple hunger pang. The solitary hunt for food only emphasized his desperation. In the dark the people he loved seemed so close. So close he could almost feel the warmth of their skin in his cold stone tomb. Where were they? Ray impulsively reached out into the dark and found nothing but dust. His hand limply slapped to the floor. He drew unseen swirls on it with his finger.

“God, I want to go home.” He put the Thagomizer to the side. Crossing his arms and curling up again he decided to keep talking. Human noise was good.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t eat and I’m talking to myself. How pathetic can one guy get? I ask you!”

He rolled over on his back again, rubbing at an open sore on his wrist. It seemed to be taking longer and longer for his skin to heal these days. He blamed the constant dark. Ray didn’t think he had Seasonal Affectedness Disorder, the winter depression brought about by no steady sunlight. “It’s just a bit stressful around here. That’s all.”

Peter had once told him that vocalizing his problems, to another person or even just to the wall, would make him feel better about whatever was troubling him. Vent. Vent everything that’s gone wrong and you’ll feel so much better. Get it all out. To Hell with this stoic shit. Ray smiled as Peter’s lazy tones drifted through his mind.

“I want Peter, Egon and Winston to come in shooting. I want Aunt Lois and Sam and the rest of the Stantz clan. I want all my friends, too. I want to go home. I want to eat every day. Fish. Sweet fisshh three times a day, my preciousss. I want to be clean. I want to be warm. I want…I want a million dollars. A red Mustang convertible and Janine in a white lace negligee, as long as I’m dreaming, why not? Oh, and a pony!” He imagined roasting the pony on a spit and smacked his lips.

The five-foot scratcher let out a disappointed gurgle that became a shriek of surprise and pain as something huge attacked it. Ray felt the vibration of the pounce and heard the frantic scramble. He heard the wail suddenly silenced. There was then the clear crunch of bones and the ripping of scaly hide as the scratcher was forcibly brought into the food chain. Ray’s heart beat painfully hard.

It was a terrible noise but the sound of devouring death was always welcome. Humans are wonderful adaptors. Especially considering how determined and ingenious this human, Doctor Raymond Stantz, PhD, was. Rising to his hands and knees he crept towards the sound of gnashing teeth and tearing muscle. Pressing his hand on a counterweight his ‘door,’ a boulder measuring three feet by three feet, swiveled open a few inches and blood seeped into his cave. The only light in Mordor’s blackest night came from the phosphorous laden eyes of the twelve-foot Howler enjoying its kill right on the human’s doorstep. Ray studied the eyes’ positioning. He watched the lidless green orbs bob up and down as the Howler ate and he carefully listened to the chomping, the slurping, sounds. He slowly opened the door just a bit more.

Aiming just below the eyes he threw himself forward.

The nocturnal, and therefore nearly blind, Howler was taken by surprise as Ray stole half of the kill right out of its mouth, scuttled back inside and shut the door, for all the world like an especially large and skillful trap-door spider.

“YOINK! Hah!” A scream of challenge echoed outside the cave and Ray cheerily disregarded it. “Yeah, come in here and say that, I dare ya!” He dragged the corpse into his own ‘dining room’ and triumphantly felt over his catch to see what parts he had managed to come away with. Felt like he had a hind leg and the tail. Not bad at all. The Howler, possessed of very little brain, sluggishly forgot all about him and returned to its slavering and tearing at what was left.

Sounded delicious! Ray peeled down a strip of hide and bit into the generous meat on the leg. His body rejoiced with every raw mouthful, every cell alert and pleased, truly Ray could have wept with relief. Absolutely no thoughts of disgust over his bloody, stolen meal crossed his mind. Food was food. Freshly killed, it was the best food. Ray ripped off another chunk of quickly cooling meat. It was all good.

_It would be better cooked, babe._

“I know, Mom, but it’s okay like it is, really.” Ray was distracted from the leg long enough to realize he was talking to his mother and he shook his head hopelessly.

Not this, too.

As ever, Ray ignored her. He didn’t want to listen to his mother’s voice. He bit into the leg again.

_Kid, I’ve got some bad…very bad news to tell you about your Dad and your…your Mom._

Ray groaned. He didn’t want to listen to the sorrowful Cop’s voice either.

_It wasn’t so much that they had died but how they had been found! The firemen were shocked out of their minds! I mean they seemed like the most decent people you could ever meet! Especially her! My cousin was there and he said…_

And he most certainly didn’t need to listen to the overheard gossip again. Why? Why was all the old hurt coming back? He’d dealt with it all years ago. He’d gotten over it. He’d gone on. He’d…

He’d survived.

He survived his parent’s deaths and he survived the scandalized aftermath and he would survive this dark dimension of wind and blood and mud. He had done very well here. He had security, he had water in the form of a murky spring that bubbled against the far wall, soaking even more leg-bones. He had…Ray relished another bite of the Scratcher’s meat…he had food. Why, he was just rolling in luxury. He even had leisure now.

The leisure to be alone in the dark with his thoughts and memories. Leisure that he somehow never had back home. Too many ghosts and demons to bust, too many machines to build, too much fun with his friends and family, too much TV to watch and too many books and comics to read. Too much food to stuff into his face.

God, he was all alone. He had never been phobic about being alone as Peter was, Ray always found himself to be very good company as long as he kept himself busy but this hellish dimension was almost too much without backup. He tried to fantasize about how his friends would manage if they were trapped here with him. “Winston! Try these purple grubs! They taste like mint!” His joke fell flat in the lonely darkness. Better he was here alone than watching his friends being subjected to this place and he ruthlessly pushed his fantasies away.

But he wanted them, the people he loved. He wanted them close so badly he could smell them, their colognes and perfumes and their natural human scent. Janine smelled of paper-dust and sandalwood smoke the day she surprised him with a first edition mythology book he’d always wanted. It wasn’t even Christmas or his birthday. He desired to have it so she went out and searched shelf after shelf in antique store after store until she found it.

He could see them. He could see the sun shining through the parlor of his Aunt Lois’ mansion on Easter Sunday. He remembered he owed his cousin Sam several letters. He’d give his soul for one of their marathon long-distance bull sessions over the phone.

He could feel them. He felt Winston’s rough hands jerking him away from certain death. Peter grabbing him by the ear for one reason or another. Egon helping him to his feet after a lab explosion had knocked both of them to the floor.

He could hear his Dad patiently explaining to his three year old son why it was a bad idea to take electrical appliances into the bathtub. He could hear his Mother…no! No, he couldn’t hear her, he couldn’t hear her at all. Ray pounded his fist on the hard, stone floor. The shock of the impact shot up his arm, inflaming his anger even more. Anger was a mild word.

He was furious.

“Where are you?!” he shouted. “Get me out of here! How long is it going to take you people? How long am I going to stay here? How…how long? How long?”

_As long as it takes. Everything happens for a…_

“Don’t tell me that, Mom. Don’t tell me everything happens for a reason. There’s no reason for this.”

_Isn’t there?_

A raging pulse of hunger and loneliness and anger battered Ray as he lay again on the cold, dirty floor, still clutching his dinner. He shook with horror, his skin jiggling. His stomach was full but he felt so starved and cold. His gums were bleeding, his skin was covered with a mass of lesions, slashes and bruises that weren’t healing well. His clothes were rags and his hair had grown, curling down over his forehead in a filthy tangle. He was lethargic and dreamed of blood. He was so changed, so filthy and dangerous and desperate.

Werewolf. Vampire. Ghoul. The Monster that Hungers, always, always.

“I’m sorry.” His moaned breath blew at the black dust. “Whatever I did to deserve this, I’m so sorry.” He unclenched his fists and tried to calm down. Ray felt he wasn’t only losing weight, he was losing his mind. He was losing the person he used to be.

Probably, he was being punished.

Ray tried to subdue his brain with silliness. It had always worked before in his life. An unending diet of overwork, overstudy, overplay, food and children’s entertainment helped a lot. There was none of that in Mordor, however. Desperate to forget, to stop thinking, he began to sing again. “First I was afraid! I was petrified! Kept thinkin’ I could never live without you by my side. But then I spent so many nights thinkin’ how you done me wrong and I grew strong. And I learned how to get along!” Ray sat up, put away his clawed dinner and let his best Disco Diva song stylings echo through the cave. “Something…something…I! I will survive! Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I’ll stay alive! I’ve got all my life to live and I’ve got all my love to give, I will survive! I will survive! Hey, hey!”

_You’re surviving but are you living?_

“GO AWAY, MOM!!!” Ray screamed. He choked and coughed again.

_I’m not your Mom._

“Not my Mom, not my Mom, not my Mom…” Ray repeated stupidly.

_You saved my life, you truly did. Now I'm saving yours. Are you living?_

This voice was within him, as familiar as his own light tenor. It sounded so…knowing. “Of course I’m alive! What do you mean living? Live it up? Enjoy this place? I don’t think so.” Ray ranted.

_You’re hungry. Even before you landed here you were hungry. Hungry for years and all the junk you could cram into your mouth and your mind hasn’t satisfied you. Face what happened and grow up. Go to the Light, my children! There is peace and serenity in the Light!_

With that bit of nonsense, he understood. It was his own voice. The voice of reason that he had fought for years. No. Wait. He didn't have a woman's voice. What? No. What was happening now had absolutely no connection to what had happened to his parents then. What had happened to him. None. None at all.

“I want my Mom.” Ray slapped his hands over his mouth. Oh, god. A grown man asking for his mother. How revolting. He scratched at a sore on his leg and his hand came away wet. Wet? He smelled his fingers. Blood. He was bleeding again. He wasn’t healing well at all and this world was cold. He coughed again and finally admitted to himself that it wasn’t dust. He was sick. All the clever weaponry in the world wasn’t going to keep him alive after all. He curled into a ball on the stone floor and fought to keep control.

Hopeless, Ray realized he had run out of all advantages.

Except one.

With a sudden lightning bolt of clarity that brought his eyes wide open he realized there actually was a connection between then and now, between his parent’s deaths and the blackness of Mordor. Everything happens for a reason. There was even a reason for this. There was a way to live here. To be warm and to have light, and security at least, even if he couldn’t have his family and friends. A way for his body to heal.

A way for his spirit to heal.

“Not that. C’mon, please, not that.” Ray begged.

_Yes, that. Exactly that. It’s time._

Ray groaned. “I’m not strong enough. I don’t want to live through that again.”

_We already had the ‘living’ conversation._

“Shut up.”

It was going to cost him, if he wasn’t killed outright. He could lose everything, his home, his job and his friends, the people he loved.

_Haven’t you already lost everything?_

Ray twisted in the wind for two complete hours. Counting his breaths and thinking over his options. The Howler finished its meal and went away. Ray slapped at the mites some more. His stomach cautiously worked over the rare feast of fresh lizard meat and Ray bore the pain as well as he could. A full stomach but he was still hungry. He was just starving.

It was the living, cold dark that decided him. It was dark so thick that anything could be hiding in it, waiting to take him down by the neck with long, sharp teeth.

A dark so intense and miserable that Ray couldn’t say, with certainty, that he even existed within it.

“You win, Mom...me...whoever you are.” He covered his face in his hands. “I would have to be a half-starved maniac to give in to this but I have to. I have to do it.” Ray gasped and forced himself to say the words, say them right out loud and make them concrete and binding and inescapable. “What’s more, I want to.” He groaned, realizing the enormity of his admission. The repercussions of the road he had finally begun to walk. Mordor had been no accident, he was meant for this. It was time. Time to break through the memories of his past and the pain and guilt that had bound him for years. Time to grow again. Time to live. Like a desperate fugitive that had been in hiding for too long, Ray was intensely relieved that he had been caught at last.

He was through with running.

“I’ve decided, Mom. I want to live.” The stress of years was released and a shriek tore out of his soul. “I’m going to live!” He screamed to the blackness and he choked again. He stood, gasping, and thrust his fists into the air. “They said I was mad! Mad! But, it’s alive I tell you, it’s alive, it is ALIVE!” Ray had made his decision. Exhausted by his sudden commitment he dropped to the floor and lost consciousness.

Yes, indeed, he was losing the person he used to be.

Or was he was becoming the person he truly was?

 

******************************************************

*  
“Reboot completed.” Egon stated with satisfaction. “Entering coordinates Mordor Zero Gamma Alpha Gamma. Searching…search results in two minutes.” The Dimensional Portal flared into life, throwing bright, wavering lights throughout the basement lab.

Winston was sorting the contents of his med-kit. Ray could run fast but those giant lizards looked mighty fast too. Certainly take the pressure bandages in case he was bleeding. Take the leg and arm splints in case something was broken. Leave the rubber chicken with the Voodoo symbols on it. Winston glared at Peter.

Peter was wrapping silver duct tape around the tops of his boots and the cuffs of his jumpsuit. No insect was going to crawl up his legs. Winston decided that was a good idea and took over the tape when Peter was through. Then he moved to check the bulky proton throwers. As weapons they would work perfectly. He decided to leave the ectoplasmic traps behind. Peter and Ray had not studied Mordor at any length but everything had seemed to be vitally alive so the traps would be deadweight. Winston sighed. This waiting was awful.

******************************************************

 

*  
Ray picked over every inch of his cave until it was as scrupulously clean as a cave could be. He wished he could clean himself as well but there was only enough water to strain and drink. Taking a tip from Herbert’s science fiction novel ‘Dune’ Ray had decided to scrub himself with sand. It seemed to work. He didn’t reek of sweat, rotten meat and blood anymore. He smelled like dirt. He wished he had thought of it sooner. His home was organized, his body was clean, coated with a fresh layer of mud and he was as calm, settled and prepared as he could be. Ray opened the ‘skylight’ in the front entrance of his cave, a small five inch rock just above head height, letting in dim, grey illumination and bent down over an enormous stack of carefully gathered dry bones.

He chose the most dry and set them aside in a small, stacked pile along with twists of dry vegetation, brittle insectoid carapaces and one of his sleeves that had unraveled into rags long ago. Another novel of Jean Auel’s, ‘The Mammoth Hunters,’ had given him the idea of burning bone for warmth and light as, Auel’s research had shown, the Cro-Magnons that lived on the grassy steppes of the ancient world had done. They had been forced to burn bone as they had no wood on those endless plains. Unfortunately, Auel had never gone into the technical aspects of the process other than it took several people with great patience, skill and a large bellows to accomplish it. None of Ray’s Boy Scout training had prepared him for that so he had never even tried.

But what he was about to do he hadn’t learned in Boy Scouts.

To burn bone you needed a hot, intensely hot, flame. No amount of friction would produce the heat Ray needed so…

He sat for a few moments, calming his mind and trying to remember what his mother had taught him so many years ago. Important Lesson Number One: The tools did not matter so much as the intent.

Because magic, magic, oh god, MAGIC was not as complicated as some of its more theatrical practitioners made it out to be.

His environment ordered, Ray set to work on his concentration. Three shallow breaths in through the nose...release in three short huffs through the mouth...three in...three out...repeat until you start to hyperventilate. Ray coughed, dropped the distracting rhythm and concentrated on nice, deep breaths instead. Deep breath in, deep breath out...whoosh. Don't think. Don't be hungry. Don't feel lonely. Don’t be afraid. Concentrate on now...deep breath in...deep breath out. Don't scratch that itch. Don't worry about legs becoming pained and numb. Don’t notice that the bleeding was starting again. Deep breath in...deep breath out...

Ray fell asleep sitting up.

Landing face-first into his pile of deadweed he woke with a shout, reaching for The Thagomizer. Spitting out a 'beetle' wing he regained his bearings and turned back to his task, feeling stupid. Was his nose broken? No. Okay. Well, he was tired! And cold. Determined, he faced the small, dry pile of rubbish again.

_Remember, sweetheart, it's the intent that matters. All the hoodoo and trinkets and gizmos in the world mean nothing. They're just tools, a focus, y'know. The power is inside of you. Use what you feel comfortable with. What means something to you. Shoot, I could start a fire with the Oscar Meyer Weiner Jingle!_

”There’s just no beating Ancient Wisdom.” Ray smiled, letting his mother's voice relax and encourage him. It had been so long since he'd done this..."It feels like reopening a door that's been boarded shut for years." he mused. Inspired by that image Ray set to work. What was it Peter always encouraged? Positive visualization! All right.

Here is the locked door. Open the door and get what you need on the other side. All right.

In his mind Ray suddenly stood facing an enormous medieval drawbridge. A towering barrier of oaken beams and iron chains pulled up against the meaningless nit of a man that stood on the far side of the moat, desperate to get in. "Oh, hell, Peter, It's been too long. I'll never get through that thing. I'm too wasted."

_Then don't go through that thing, dumbass. Visualize something realistic, something you have a chance of getting through._

"Just a door, then? Like a sliding glass door maybe?"

_Well, it's not just the door is it? It's what's on the other side. The door itself is immaterial and insignificant._

Ray covered his eyes with his hand. The other side of the door? Wouldn't it be easier to just go ahead and die?

_Yeah, and you'll be the only human ghost haunting this barren dimension. Unfinished business, Ray. This is unfinished business and the time to face it is now, before you die, before the dark comes. You can do it._

”Why? Why do I have to do it since I’m probably just going to die here anyway. I want to know why!”

_Patience, Grasshopper. All will be revealed._

Ray dropped his hand and wiped the wetness on his leg. He closed his eyes and faced the door again. It had shrank. It was the door to his parent's home, to his home, painted white with a half-moon window of frosted glass. He had helped his father paint it when he had been five years old and his clumsy, globular brushstrokes were evident but his dad had never sanded them down and painted over them. It was covered in black, sooty fingerprints, evidence of the firemen's passing in and out. And there, the jamb was broken where Morrisville’s Sheriff had kicked the door in. And criss crossing it, like a toxic spiderweb, were yellow strips of 'Police Line - Do Not Pass' tape. The sheriff's deputy had been so excited about finally being able to use their one, moldering roll of 'Do Not Pass' tape that he had made entrance into the actual crime scene impossible. Ray could hear the sheriff cussing the deputy for being the 'self made sonovabitch' that he was. He could also hear the starlings, the chirp of crickets and the excited, shocked gabbling of the crowd of neighbors. Ray could see them gathered together in a crowd, pointing towards the house and hashing and rehashing the greatest scandal to ever hit the one-horse burg of Morrisville. They did not see him. They did not understand and they never would no matter how hard or how eloquently the orphan boy Ray used to be tried to explain.

Ignoring them all, he reached out and closed his hand around one of the strips. Faintly amazed that it did not pierce, grab or shock him, Ray pulled and the plastic stretched thin before breaking. He reached again and tore down two more strips, then three more. Finally, he was facing a simple white door framed with yellow banners uselessly snapping in the breeze. Ray's bony, chilled fingers encircled the knob...

_It wasn't so much WHAT happened but HOW they were found! I mean, they seemed like such decent people! Especially HER!_

Almost choking with dread Ray turned the knob and opened the door.

"Hi, sweetheart!"

"M...Mom?"

The house was as much a shrine to esoteric clutter, but never dust, as ever. Silken good-luck kites from the Far East, shaped like red bats and multicolored butterflies, adorned every inch of the walls. The oak bookshelves were bowed under the sheer weight of all the books. Every line and curve and crease and smell were etched on Ray's memory as clearly now as when he saw it for the last time at the age of thirteen. There were no burns, no nauseating smell of destroyed furniture and water damaged plaster.

"Wipe your feet and come sit down." Ray looked past the living room and into the kitchen. His mother and father and Peter Venkman were settling into the breakfast nook for one of Jo Stantz's infamous English teas. Ray could smell the burnt cinnamon and he smiled. Briefly scraping his bare, muddy feet he walked over and sat in the empty chair next to Peter.

Peter was inspecting his tea, swirling it around in Ray's mother's bone china cup, then he reached in a finger and pulled out an inch of orange peel. It still had a Sunkist sticker on it. He leaned towards Ray. "Golly, Beav, don't tell Eddie and the gang but I think Mom is trying to KILL US!"

"Gee whiz, Mom!" Ray complained. His father snorted with amusement, fishing a stalk of indigestible mint out of his own cup.

"Mikhail, don't encourage the children." Jo admonished him and dopeslapped both boys on the side of the head. She was lightning fast and had both ladylike hands innocently, and properly, back on her own cup as Peter muttered something about the cycle never ending. Ray laughed again.

He felt compelled to say something to mark the occasion. "It's great seeing you guys together. I've always wanted you two to meet Peter, and Winston and his family, and Egon, and Egon's mom and Janine, and her family, and..." Ray looked around as if expecting the entire gang to conga their way in and join them. "Where are they? I'm dreaming this, right? Everyone should be here."

"This goes beyond the creative visualization I was telling you about." Peter started, biting into a shortbread cookie. When Jo turned towards Ray he surreptitiously spit it into his napkin. Mick saw him and raised his teacup in a long-suffering toast.

Jo was ecstatic. "This is a full-on vision, sweetheart. Congratulations! It's your first!"

Ray was confused. "This can't be a vision, I'm just sitting on the floor and trying to concentrate."

Jo leaned over and proudly put an arm around her son, unmindful of the drying, flaking mud that rolled off his body every time he moved. "You've been fasting for weeks, unintentionally of course, but it's made you very perceptive and receptive."

"I've been fasting for years and I can't receive squat," Mick complained, bouncing another cookie off the table and into the air. Peter watched in open-mouthed fascination as Mick caught it in his hand again. Fast as a Karate Master, Jo kicked them both in the leg and turned away from their cries and whimpers.

Ray watched, delighted. It was so good to be home.

“Fasting, struggling, surviving; it’s all a very cleansing experience. All your extraneous baggage is being thrown aside, making room for what’s truly important,” Jo continued, her eager round face close to Ray’s. “This is your Passage Ritual. You have to burn off your old self before you can re-emerge whole and new, like a Phoenix!”

“Or a Unicorn!” Mick emphasized.

“I’ve always been partial to Fairies, myself,” Peter joined in.

“You would be.” Ray’s dad allowed his wrist to go limp.

“I…hey!” Peter took aim with a crumpet.

“NO!” Mick ducked under the table. “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“Bothofyoukissmyassandgotohell!” Jo snarled and stomped at Mick, Peter having wisely moved out of range on the other side of the table. “I’m trying to be profound here!”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Mikhail reemerged and sat next to Peter, grinning Ray’s grin at her.

“I’m sorry too, honey.” Peter apologized, both men were contrite and smugly out of her immediate grasp.

Jo shot them both an angry, but somewhat amused, look with eyes that matched Ray’s shade of amber exactly. She turned back to her son and gasped. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to wake up. I’d rather die than wake up from this.” Ray shook his head and hid his eyes with his hand again. Jo threw her arms around him and pressed him close. Mick scrambled around to his son’s other side and wrapped long arms around Ray and his wife. Peter sat where he was and looked on with unfathomably sad eyes. Ray buried his face in his mother’s shoulder and sobbed. She smelled like cinnamon and oranges and tea. Home.

“You opened the door for a reason, Ray,” Peter finally said. “What was it?”

Ray raised his head. “I’m cold and it’s dark. There are beasts. I’m trying to start a fire.”

Peter shook his head. “No. Why are you here? Here! Now. Why?”

Ray thought for a long time. “I want to go home.”

“This place, Ray,” Peter raised his index finger and drew circles in the air with it, “And your family have been dead, ashes, for years. You can’t go home, again.”

“I don’t mean me, I mean…I mean I want a home.” Ray looked to his parents for clarity but they simply returned his gaze with love and sympathy.

Peter leaned his elbows on the table and began to roll a round shortbread cookie back and forth between his hands. “You want a home? You have a home. With us at the firehouse. And we want you to come back. We’re busting our asses to get to you.”

Ray shook his head again. “No, that’s not what I mean!” A slow, uncontrollable sob stopped his speech and he tried to understand what it was he wanted. A home, a home…He looked around at his parents. “I want a home…for you.”

“For us, sweetheart?” Jo and Mick Stantz had Ray squashed comfortingly between them and he was unwilling to ever move again. He turned to his mother.

“A home for you, Mom. I want you back. Please, Mom, I’m so sorry. It’s been Dad, Dad, Dad and the workshop and the engineering and how much I missed him and…I never once mentioned you. I never talked about you. I never said…how great you were…I never told the guys what happened…nothing…I’m so, so sorry.” Ray laid a battered hand against his chest, he could feel his heart beating hard enough to burst. Unable to face her he buried his face in her neck again. “I’m sorry I waited until I was starved and filthy and desperate before I even…I’m not worth it. I’m not worth it but please, please come home, Mom. I love you.”

Jo’s face twisted into hot tears and she smiled, a beam of love and pride for her son. “I love you, too, sweetheart. Please don’t be sorry, you never did anything wrong. Everything happens in its own time, not a moment too soon or too late. Of course I’ll come home and you’re more than worth it. Oh, baby, I never left!”

She covered his hand with her own and Ray felt a warmth and a peace that had been missing for many years fill his soul. He grabbed her close and then closer still until she was within him, within his soul at last and he shuddered with relief and joy. Ray laughed and wrapped his arms around himself. “Peter! It’s okay! She said it was okay! Isn’t she great? Mom’s great!” Peter smiled and nodded.

“You’re great, too, Raymond.” Mikhail pulled Ray in for a last hug, smiled and disappeared, leaving Ray and Peter at the table alone. Ray’s head dropped to the tabletop and he sobbed and choked until his strength gave out and he just sat with his head down, weak and filled and overcome. It was over. The suffering and the guilt and the anguish of years was over. He had forgiven her. Mom had forgiven him. Hell, she’d never even blamed him. Mom was home. Mom was home…

He realized his childhood house had gone and he was sitting in the darkened kitchen of the drafty old firehouse that he missed so much. Peter still sat, unmoving, at the other end of the rickety table that served Ray’s new family.

“Ray.”

Ray looked up at his friend and screamed. A pentacle the size of a half-dollar had been carved with a straight-razor into the pale skin of Peter’s forehead and the blood of it was dripping into his sad green eyes, down his cheeks and onto the collar of his jumpsuit.

“Peterpleasenononono…” Ray babbled and reached to stop the bleeding with his bare hands. Peter caught and held them.

“I’m so sorry, Ray, in advance. This is what you’re up against. And I meant what I said about not being able to go home again. What’s the Number One Iron Clad Rule of the Firehouse?”

No magic. Ray didn’t want to say it. So he didn’t. “Peter, I’m not turning back now. I can’t. Rules were made to be broken.”

Peter stared at him with wide eyes for a moment and then he smiled. “Ray, you really are the wondrous one. If anyone can convince us to break that rule, it’s you.” Peter stood up and slid his chair under the table again. The blood was suddenly gone and he looked down at Ray with warmth. An enormous cockroach was crawling up the wall behind him but he uncharacteristically ignored it. “And believe you, me, Ray, we’re going to need convincing in order to prepare us to survive the years ahead. The machines won’t solve all our problems. Or even half of them. It’s time for the team to evolve and that is your mission, should you choose to accept it, blah de blah.” Peter leveled a significant look at Ray and the filthy man nodded with sudden understanding, fear and determination. “See you soon, Ray. This tape will self-destruct in ten seconds.” Peter waved goodbye.

“Peter, WAIT!” Ray reached for his friend and met only a grey waste.

Grey, dim light and cold air. Black dust. The distant howling of some deadly creature. Hunger and pain.

Mordor.

Ray was awake.

Tears had cut a clean channel through the dried coating on his face and he reeled, gasping. He uncrossed his numb legs and fell back onto the floor, assaulted by the memories of his first vision. He fainted.

******************************************************

*

“Peter, did you hear me?” Egon reached out and shook Peter Venkman’s shoulder. Peter and Winston were standing in front of the portal, throwers drawn, cuffs taped against buggy intrusion, ready for the scene to clarify.

Peter jumped and looked up at Egon in confusion. “Do you smell tea?”

“Tea?”

“I could swear I smelled tea.” Peter looked around and sniffed the air. “I don’t smell it anymore. Weird. Sorry I zoned out on you, Spengs, what did you say?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you two?” Egon glared at the portal. “I could set the controls to automatically retrieve all four of us.”

“No, Egon, too many unknowns.” Peter double-checked his thrower. “No one knows we’re gone, too many man-eating lizards, and we need you here in case something goes wrong.”

“I’m quite sure all our precautions have prepared us for any emergency.” Egon insisted.

“Yeah, Pete,” Winston joined in. “God knows, nothing has ever gone wrong before!”

Egon took the hint and gave in, striding unhappily back to the locater’s control panel.

“Suck it up, Egon, other than Ray, you’re the best qualified to stay behind in case something goes wrong. Sorry about that.” Winston smiled ruefully. “Hey, Pete, ever get the feeling we’re expendable?”

“As pretty as we are? We’re downright invaluable!” Peter shook his thick brown hair and Winston flexed a generous muscle.

Egon interrupted their nervous grandstanding, “Ray and I added Pschokinetic Energy detection capabilities to the portal itself.”

“You did? When?”

“Last Thursday. We decided using the handheld PKE meters were too limited in their range and led to prolonged and dangerous exposure in whatever dimension concerned during a search. We hadn’t tested it so we were going to wait for success before we told anyone.” All three men were watching the shimmering portal impatiently. Egon continued his lecture. “As soon as Mordor shows itself the locater will be able to pinpoint Ray’s location exactly, using his biorythms. It will re-orient to his position immediately. All you need to do is step across and grab him.”

Providing he’s still alive, Peter thought but didn’t dare say.

 

******************************************************

*

When Ray awoke again he was calm and strengthened. How long had he been out? A long, long time. He must have needed it. His emotional collapse had rejuvenated his entire body. He was going home. Not right away, of course, he had too much to do around here, but the certainty that he would be headed home someday, and not dying here to be picked clean by lizards, made him ecstatic. He was also devastated. In a good way. Was it possible to be devastated in a good way? He lay in the dust of his cold cave floor and pondered the question. "Dr. Miner once asked the class if there was a difference between pleasure and joy," he said to himself, filling up the silence. "Most of the other kids said there was no difference but I said there was. Joy is a total explosion of good feelings. Pleasure is just encountering something you like or expected. I mean, people can get pleasure out of a really bad depression, y'know, 'Wow! I've Never Felt This Bad,' and so on and so forth." He smiled and rubbed his eyes. “This is joy, my friends.”

The hunger pulled at him, pulled so hard his muscles were sore from it, and Ray got up to scrounge again. With a small shock he realized that being hungry didn't matter so much anymore. That's the way things work in this dimension. Mordor was cold and hungry and lonely so, when in Rome…

He practically danced to the door, waited ten minutes, listening, then he went out. He stepped down to the buffalo wallow and began to dig around. “Fisssh, my precious, we would gives our left testicle for a nice juicy fish, yes, my precious! Gollum! Gollum!” Suddenly creeping himself out, Ray stopped that imitation and grabbed up a thumb-sized segmented, multilegged thing. That was its name, the Segmented, Multilegged Thing and Ray bit into it with relief. If he could only uncover two more Things he could be somewhat satisfied. Miraculously he found seven more and almost did a lunatic dance right there in front of nobody. "It must be breeding season!" Fearful of doing his mudhole too much ecological damage he stopped eating. How could he have found so many?

Maybe his remaining advantage helped?

Ray felt a light inside his soul and body that had been missing for many years. Not so much missing, really, as ignored and suppressed. It blazed now, a light so real, so physical and malleable he felt he could pull it out of himself, fold it into an airplane and send it flying. Yes, he had released one hell of an advantage within himself. Thanks, Ma. Ray realized he was happy. He wasn’t even coughing that badly this morning. His leg had stopped bleeding and the scratches were scabbing over nicely. Even the murk seemed to be a livelier shade of grey than before. Mordor was beautiful. The bugs were beautiful. The bones and the stones were beautiful. “There’s a liiiight, over at the Frankenstein place! There’s a liiiight, burning in the fireplace!” he sang. “There’s a light, a light, in the darkness of everybody’s life!”

Hope.

Hope and a glorious new beginning. “Merry Christmas, Bedford Falls!” Ray shouted, months early, but he’d never meant it more. A nasty, keening wail rose over the land and Ray spun around to see the black outline of a Howler as big as a bus about fifty yards away. The Howler was beautiful. Ray stood his ground and screamed back at it. He was answered and soon all of Mordor was filled with the defiant shrieks and cries of two brutal and deadly animals. Then the coughing started and Ray pointed a finger in the air as he conceded victory. The Howler charged and Ray shot back to his cave. “YOU JUST WAIT, ASSHOLE!” was Ray’s parting shot and he squirmed his way to safety. Once inside he shut the door and laughed and laughed and laughed.

He was so full, at last, he was afraid he would burst.

He kept on laughing as he rolled over and over back to his pile of ‘kindling.’ It was time to try again but he continued to sputter as he organized all his materials. Pile of dried bone there, rags from his sleeve, brittle bug shells and dried weed here. Ray sat, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees comfortably.

Deep breath in…deep breath out…Ray gathered the released power in, focusing it, honing it as he searched for what would work for him. Power? Good grief, how dramatic.

_Remember, Sweetie, it’s the Intent and not the Tools!_

“I gotcha.” Ray said, nodding. He remembered his mother’s old lessons more and more clearly and he welcomed every bit of advice and instruction. He also welcomed the memories. Like a flood of warm, joyous water washing over him he welcomed the memories he had suppressed for so long. Hot summer days with his Mom surrounded by lemonade and old Celtic and Nordic rune-charts or chilly winter nights in the woods tracking the paths of the constellations. Hours in the back yard learning about fire, water, earth and air. He smiled, remembering her recipe cards in the old steel box full of How To’s. How To insure good dreams. How To call birds into your hand. How To start a fire. How To levitate. Where was that box? He’d have to find it when he got back. Oh, there was such magic in the world.

Ray missed Jo. Goddamn, he missed her.

Every ounce of mythological and paranormal fascination Ray Stantz possessed, the very person he was, he owed to his mother’s early instructions on the unseen aspects of life. Denying her had been a terrible mistake and he was determined to rectify it. He turned his mind to his Latin degree for the proper words to use as a focus and swallowed, nervous. He hadn’t lit a fire like this since he was in danger of losing out on a Fire Badge in Boy Scouts thanks to wet wood. He almost started a forest fire then. He should have used Sterno hidden in the dirt as his friend Pendleton had done but he wasn’t as devious as ‘Ol Penn had been. Ray opened his eyes and looked down at his kindling. He visualized a longbow and a steel tipped arrow…he mentally nocked his arrow and pulled the string back, gathering his strength. He took careful aim…

“Accendo!” he let the arrow fly. An invisible force left his body with lightning speed and…

BANG!

“OW!”

With an ear-splitting gunshot suddenness his pile of kindling exploded, sending shards of sharp, burning bone in all directions. “Ow!” Ray threw his arms up to shield his face, too late, splinters of blackened bone had embedded themselves in his skin. “Ow, ow, ow!”

Suddenly, he forgot his pain as he watched the strip of fabric writhe and burn away. The flames cast a healthy orange and red glow throughout his cave and the darkness was pushed back to the farthest corners. The colors were so lively and the light was so bright that Ray’s eyes watered in pain but he continued to watch until the strip was fully engulfed and only a snake of ash was left behind.

Ray let out a low gasp of sheer delight. It was the most gorgeous thing he’d seen in countless, grey days. Orange! A bright, pretty orange! He put a hand to his chest. “Be still my heart! Wow!” And there had been warmth! He had almost forgotten what heat felt like he had become so used to the cold. “Wow. Wow. I did it. Look Ma! No hands!”

Sitting in the darkness once more Ray felt the pain return. He pulled two stinging splinters out of his right cheekbone, “Almost lost an eye there, stupid,” and seven more from his arms and hands. He was sure several more were stuck in his hair and what was left of his clothes and he brushed himself off, carefully. His hands were shaking and he took several more deep breaths to calm his elation. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten how good wielding his abilities felt. No more dry reading and interpreting of scholarly, forgotten books. Newly released memories clamored for his attention and he was going to enjoy savoring them later but for now…

Deep breath in…deep breath out…

He gathered together another small pile of kindling and arranged them carefully in a small stack. He left the bones out this time. Realizing he was a hell of a lot stronger now than when he was a ten year old Boy Scout, Ray cut the size of his mental weaponry in half. He moved further back, nocked a smaller mental arrow to the bow again, pulled…focused…a lesser Latin word.

“Igniculus!”

BANG!

“OW! GEEZ!”

The delicate dried grasses and brittle carapaces flew up in a swarm of stinging red ash, coating every surface of the cave. “Ow, ow, ow!” Ray swatted at the stinging coals and frantically shook the embers out of his hair. “Oh, man! Stop! Cripes!” Well, this was better than the ‘Murray the Mantis’ show. “Sonovabitch!” Ray started to laugh. He had absolutely no control but it was there! He was doing it! He was actually doing it! He was playing with fire. Quite literally, he was playing with fire and Ray became subdued for a moment, thinking of the consequences. Thinking of Peter’s scars. Their reactions. With the ease of long, long practice he banished his unpleasant speculations. Like Scarlett said, he’d think about it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day!

Ray dropped the Latin and the ‘Bow and Arrow’ theme entirely. He turned to his world of fantasy reading and picked up a long leg bone. He held each end lightly between his fingers and concentrated on the midsection. Less is best. And when in Mordor…

“Elbereth!”

WHACK!

“FRIG!”

Imagining his fingers had put them in danger and Ray dove for his mud spring to put himself out. He plunged his hands in and with a _ffssst!!_ sound the flames were doused.

“Ahhhhhhoooowwwwwww!!!!” He inspected the damage to his fingertips. A couple of minor cracks were oozing blood and about one, two…five blisters were forming. Not as bad as it could have been. Ray lay on his stomach and swirled his sore fingers in the cool mud. The relief felt so good it was almost worth the pain. The leg bone itself had imploded completely and was gone. Impressive in a really horrible and excruciating way. His fingers throbbed victoriously. “Okay, think.” Think. A lesser visualization. A harmless focus, something cute and trite and hopefully PAINLESS. Ray pondered his options. Then he rolled his eyes and smiled. Getting up he collected another pile of fuel, plus bone, together and backed away to the farthest corner of his cave, just in case. He relaxed, concentrating, visualizing a gentle fire emanating from the kindling. He felt a rush of vigor within his body drowning out the pain of the stinging burns, then he began to sing.

“Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Meier Wiener! That is what I’d really like to be!” The kindling began to smoke and a small flame shot up from the dried grasses with surprising suddenness. Ray’s eyes widened in excitement as the healthy red glow highlighted his haggard face. “’Cause if I were an Oscar Meier Wiener,” The bone, too, began to glow and Ray lessened the intensity, finishing the jingle in a whisper. “Everyone would be in love with me!”

And the bone was burning. A steady burning!

Ray darted forward and placed a large, dried Howler skull on top of the kindling. The flames reared up through the empty jaw and eye sockets and the skull, too, began to burn. Suddenly Ray was facing a good, steady, slow, warm fire. A normal fire would not have burnt bone so quickly, there wasn’t enough of a draft in Ray’s cave to keep up the intensity necessary, but this was no normal fire and Ray was ecstatic.

“Keep going, please keep going!” he begged and it did. He knelt down before it, stretching out his arms to each side and the warmth penetrated his body with the most delicious, important heat Ray had ever known. He was hypnotized by the brilliant golds and reds and he fought down a real and surprising desire to throw himself onto the flames.

Fire! He had fire!

A great deal of the hungry mental ache that he had endured in the wasteland was eased by this primal necessity. Light. Light and warmth in the darkness. Ray groaned and turned around to warm up his back, the skull blazing merrily bright. He shuddered with the bone-deep pleasure of it. Light and warmth and security provided by the work of his own burnt and wasted hands. His hands, Doctor Raymond Stantz’s empty hands, he raised them in the air to emphasize his triumph, too tired to dance around like a madman the way he wanted, and noticed his shadow on the wall. He formed a rabbit. He wiggled his fingers and the rabbit’s ears wiggled as well. Ray laughed. He made an elephant and the elephant’s trunk saluted him. He remembered a pleasant drawl accuse him of blocking the view, speaking of elephants. He made a bird and remembered a redheaded woman running in mock fear. “Rodan!” he shouted and laughed again. Hungry Ray was full at last. He was sated and happy, almost drunk with relief and heat and power and warm memories. No, he would not die here. His friends were on the way. He would see the people he loved again. They’d all sit down together and eat a feast in his honor and genuine sunlight would illuminate the pristinely clean and joyful scene.

Then the real trouble would start.

 

**************************************************

 

“I can’t get a fix on Ray’s position,” Egon announced as he glowered at the controls in front of him. Armed, taped up and ready for the worst Winston and Peter turned to him and opened their mouths to shout. Egon quickly raised a hand and stopped them. “I meant his exact position! The locater has still found his general location, an area of, roughly, one square mile. You’ll simply have to use the PKE meters to pinpoint him.”

Peter slumped with relief. “Thank you, Captain Tactless.”

Egon sighed. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you unnecessarily. I thought the locater was more accurate than this. There is some strange interference.”

“Dangerous?” Winston asked. Egon turned to him, palms up in a helpless, unknowing gesture.

Peter checked his watch. “It’s okay, Winston. He’s been over there less than fifteen minutes so, aside from a major case of the heebie-jeebies from all those goddamned bugs, he’ll be fine.” The portal shimmered into focus at last and Peter fought back a desire to turn his proton thrower on himself rather than cross over into Roach Heaven. Egon began the decontamination procedure and then he dropped the barrier shields. “Ah, god, it smells over there,” Peter groaned. “Ready, Winston?” Peter stepped through and the cold wind blew his hair. He looked at the scuttling whatsits and his skin began to itch.

“Hey, just try to keep up.” Winston followed, mouth puckering in disgust at the surroundings. “I take back what I said before. I’ve never seen anyplace worse.”

Peter was taking readings with his hand-held psychokinetic meter. He grinned. “Our boy’s alive and well and way over there.” He pointed in the direction of a far off, nearly invisible in the gloom, hill. Turning back to the portal he gave Egon a wave and set off. “Here we come to save the daaaaayyyyy!!” Winston waved also and Egon returned the gesture. The rescue party turned away and soon disappeared into the grey murk.

All Egon could do was eat Ray’s Mrs. Field’s cookies and wait.

 

 

Nasty, slimy strands of poisonous drool were whipped into the air as Peter caught the eight-foot lizard on the muzzle with a blast of protons. “Beat it!” Staggered by the impact the creature leveled a stare of brute astonishment at Peter as it dove for cover under a rocky overhang. Peter turned up the juice on his thrower. “I can’t believe I’m trying not to kill these screaming terrors. I’m trying to do them a favor but nooooo.” Peter felt no such consideration for the lower life-forms and lit up the landscape as he razed the ground ahead of him before moving forward.

Winston was directly behind him. “It’s worse in this dark. We can’t tell the difference between a rock and something with teeth. Ray must be going nuts.” Winston suddenly gasped, “Uh, Pete?” and moved to his friend’s side.  
Peter looked at him. Winston seemed nervous. If Winston, calm incarnate, was nervous, something must be terribly wrong and it was a moment before Peter could work up the courage to ask. “What is it?” Winston had shown less fear when the first Screamin’ Lizard from Hell had jumped at them. Winston looked at Peter with an expression of mingled horror and…strong sympathy. Sympathy? Peter cocked his head at the uneasy man. Winston very deliberately looked Peter full in the face and then flicked his eyes upwards, past him. Peter very casually glanced behind.

“NO!” He spun completely around and stared in shock and horror at the rock wall behind him. A five-foot pentagram had been burned into its surface. A looped serpent with its tail in its mouth formed the circle and five more snakes overlapped each other in the shape of a whimsically wiggly star. It was rather beautiful in its powerful simplicity. Peter’s hand went to his forehead. Then he stepped up and ran his hand down the length of a pictograph of a boa constrictor.

Winston touched it, too, and glanced at Peter. “Looks like we’re not alone here, Pete. The interference Egon mentioned. It might have been a smokescreen for whoever did this.” Winston double-checked his meter. “I’m still only picking up Ray’s biorhythms. C’mon, let’s get to Ray before that,” he nodded at the pentacle. “That evil bastard does.”

“Wait, Winston.” Peter touched the pentagram again, drawing his hand over the entire five-foot length of the circle. “It doesn’t …feel…it doesn’t feel evil.”

“What?” Winston had his back to him, again. Winston noted a boulder that hadn’t been there earlier and he brought his thrower up and fired. The stalking Howler shrieked and fled.

Peter didn’t even turn around. He remained fixated on the stone, running his fingers over every serpentine curve. “Winston, these goddamn snakes are smiling. This whole thing looks like something out of a children’s book.” He traced the thin scars on his forehead again in a comparative manner. He gulped in the thin air. Wheezing he drew in again. Then he spun away. “Let’s get Ray and get the hell out of here.” He began to run in a careless, panicked beeline towards Ray’s coordinates and Winston shot after him.

“HALT!!” Winston put as much United States Marine Corps as he could into his barked command and Peter responded, slipping to a stop under a natural rock bridge. Despite the icy gusts his face was slick with sweat. “Pete, please, stick with me. Watch your ass at all times. Spare a thought to MY ass, too, and all three of us will get out alive, okay?”

“Okay.” Venkman wiped a cold hand across his mouth. “Sorry about that.”

“No prob. Are you going to throw up?” Winston put a bracing hand on his friend’s shoulder and took a cautious step back.

“Yes…wait…no, this nice poetry is calming me down just fine.”

“Poetry?!” It was Peter’s turn to throw a significant glance over Winston’s shoulder and the big man turned quickly. Words instead of snakes had been burned into Winston’s side of the arch.

 

Oh, lead me to a quiet cell  
Where never footfall rankles,  
And bar the window passing well,  
And gyve my wrists and ankles.

Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair,  
With hempen cord go bind me,  
And, of your mercy, leave me there,  
Nor tell them where to find me.

Oh, lock the portal as you go,  
And see its bolts be double....  
Come back in half an hour or so,  
And I will be in trouble.

 

“I will be in trouble?” Winston read aloud. “What the hell?”

“It’s a Dorothy Parker poem.’”

“I know that, it’s called ‘Portrait of the Artist.’” Winston snapped and then bit his tongue, apologetically. Peter smiled, knowing that Winston was sometimes defensive of his literary knowledge. Peter continued as if Winston had not interrupted at all.

“And it’s in Ray’s handwriting. I think he did the snakes, too.” Peter’s lips drew back from his teeth in an ape-like grimace of horror as he suddenly realized something. Something very important.

Winston waved his thrower back and forth like a metronome, dismissing Peter’s notion. “He couldn’t have drawn all that, Pete, that’s ridiculous. He just didn’t have the time.”

“The TIME, Winston!” Peter shouted and felt satisfaction when realization hit Winston Zeddemore, almost doubling him over.

The implications had Winston babbling. “Time? My god, the time!! We lost track of Ray’s TIME! Pete, there’s been a…what does Egon call it? A dimensional time differential?” Peter nodded again. “Oh, MAN!! How long has Ray been here? How the hell did he live without gear? Without a pack? Without someone to help!” Winston jumped back just in time as Peter leaned over and spat on the ground, fighting his nausea. “Deep breath, Pete, take a deep breath.” Winston holstered his thrower and swallowed.

“Aw, man.” Peter said, perversely glad that he’d brought Level Headed Winston down to his panicked level. Unable and unwilling to come up with something original he parroted Winston’s questions back. “How long has Ray been here? Alone? With nothing!?”

“Oh, we screwed up. We screwed up didn’t we?” Winston whispered, reminding Peter of a kid simply dying to escape detection and punishment.

“The portal had shut completely down, Zed. Time moved on.” Peter spit again and straightened up. “There is no way we could reorient the portal to pick him up right after he landed here, it’s not a Time Machine by H.G. Welles, but we did find his location and we’re here now. There’s nothing else we could have done!”

“Nothing else!” Winston agreed, nodding frantically.

“Nothing else!” Peter agreed with Winston’s agreement and motioned the rescue party to keep moving before further precious TIME was wasted in rationalizations and fear. Both men staggered out from under the arch. Peter checked his PKE meter. Half a mile to go. More lettering appeared on the side of a twisted stone spire, KILROY WAS HERE, complete with the traditional diagram of a bald-headed, big-nosed man peering over a fence. Both men hurried past it. Recovering as best he could, Peter took to razing the insectoids with his proton thrower again, obsessively clearing a path. Suddenly he spoke, making his comrade jump. “I’ve got a question for you, Zed. If Ray had nothing, absolutely nothing, how did he burn lines into solid rock?” That stumped them both and they found themselves pausing besides another poem to inspect it more closely.

The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks  
Which cunningly conceals its sex.  
I think it clever of the turtle  
In such a fix…  
…to be so fertile!

“That’s, uhhh, Shel Silverstein?” Peter guessed.

Winston said, “No. Ogden Nash.”

“Well, he was my second choice. Look, this wasn’t just burned in, the rock is downright melted in some spots. How did he do it?!”

Winston shrugged and pointed out, nearby, the immortal _There Once Was A Man From Nantucket_ limerick. “Ray is quite the graffiti artist.”

“What else is there to do? There’s no cable in the sticks, y’know. At least he kept his sense of humor.” Peter shot from the hip into the shadows and a horrified howl and scrambling sounds were heard. “It’s getting darker. Let’s MOVE.” The hill was much closer now and they began to run towards it. Peter noticed that the runes, hieroglyphs, mottoes and verses were becoming more prolific and less finely executed the further they went. It seemed that Ray began his artistic stylings at home and spiraled outward, improving as he went. Where was home? Where the hell was Ray?!

I had a dream.  
It was my own dream,  
I dreamt it.  
I dreamed that my hair was kempt.  
And that my true love unkempt it.

Peter checked his PKE meter again and was relieved. Ray’s strong life signs were not even a hundred yards away. “Getting close, Zed!” he exulted and Winston rewarded him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his worried eyes. Peter knew how he felt. A dimensional time differential had time moving much faster for Dr. Stantz than it did for the folks at the firehouse. The Dimensional Locater kept the two dimensions in sync as long as it was open. How, Peter had no idea. Egon could explain about relative dimensional stasis, time freezing and Wagner’s operas until Peter turned blue and he still wouldn’t understand any of it. It just worked, that’s all that mattered. How much time had gone by for Ray? A sudden nightmarish image of finding Ray a feeble, toothless old man invaded his mind and he tripped over a rock out of sheer inattentive fear. He hit the ground and was up again, fast. The knees of his coverall were torn and he was bleeding. Peter didn’t even feel it.

Winston raised his eyebrows at him and Peter gave him an I’m Fine sign. They ran on. Ray’s graffiti had turned into chicken scratch. _I Hate This Place_ and so on, written by simply scraping one stone against another. Peter calculated the time it would take to begin with dense rough sketches such as these and then graduating to the snake pentacle and refined script of the Dorothy Parker poem. Not very long, he decided. Maybe just a few weeks. Considering Ray started when he first arrived here and not on his fiftieth birthday. Peter shuddered and picked up the pace. It was the almost impenetrable gloom all around him that made him so morbid, he decided. “Winston, move closer. I can barely see you.”

Here lies Lester Moore  
Who took three slugs from a .44  
No Les No Moore!

“How far now?” Winston asked, coming near as instructed and standing back to back with Peter, throwers drawn against the darkness. Peter started climbing up the hill with relief. “He’s right up top.” A primeval howl exploded from the fog. It surrounded them, it penetrated them and Peter and Winston instantly threw themselves behind cover, hearts beating in their throats, choking. Visibility was almost nil and they could only freeze and wait.

Another animal yowl brought Peter to his feet. “Christ Zed! That’s a goddamn dinosaur!” Peter shouted over the roar. Winston’s hands were clapped over his ears but he understood Peter’s gist. The assault faded away.

“It came from...” Winston pointed to the top of the hill. A thud shook the ground and another shriek of reptilian rage vibrated through their bodies. “Was that an explosion?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ray’s up there, Pete!”

“Move!’ Peter began to climb, using the scattered boulders as cover and Winston followed, both men automatically cranking their throwers’ power as high as possible. Another tremor shook the ground and they almost lost their footing. Were they footsteps? Explosions? What was up there? Kong?  
The hill was not so steep or very large and they reached the top quickly. Peter and Winston froze in deep shock at the sight that met them.

There was a cave there. The ground all around the mouth of it had been cleared away, great stones and boulders pushed out to form a ring around the area, making a sort of front yard. Standing in front of the cave, blocking the entrance was an unimaginably enormous beast. It was large enough to stand flatfooted and spy into the second story of the firehouse. The thing looked more like a primitive precursor of the dinosaurs rather than an actual dinosaur. It was black in the fading gloom except for its eyes, the size of oven doors, which glowed an unnatural phosphorescent green. A self-contained gleam that did not illuminate anything around it.

Those nightmare eyes were fixed on a lone man standing calmly before it and it hissed at him. The man stood his ground and casually jerked his head, throwing a heavy lock of hair from his own eyes. Peter studied him as he readied his thrower. He was average height. Rail thin, looking horribly like a skeleton with strong muscles. His skin, blasted a dull gray by the constant black dust, was criss-crossed with claw marks so profuse that Peter could practically count them from where he stood. His hair was a dull, dark tangle and it whipped in the wind. He wore only a modified sari-like strip of hide around his waist and in his hands he loosely held what looked to be a leg bone club. Bamm Bamm on steroids Peter decided.  
With a feeling much like the sensation of having his balls grabbed by the cold hands of the Living Undead, an experience Peter never wanted to repeat, he realized who he was looking at.

“Rrraaaayyyy!” Winston moaned and wilted to the ground in shock.

“Oh, no.” Peter joined Winston on the ground. “What did I do to you?”

He realized Ray was shouting. “I SAID I’M NOT GOOD TO EAT! BUGGER OFF!”

“What did he just say to that thing?!” Winston’s eyes were popping out of his head and Peter just made a strange gurgling sound, too shocked to speak. Ray’s voice. Ray’s familiar voice shouting calmly from the body of a wraith at a terrible standing nightmare. The Beast thrashed its tail and lurched forward again. Peter and Winston raised their throwers. Ray lifted his club. “What? Is he going to hit it?!” Winston exclaimed, his voice drowned out by the snarling of the creature. Ray whipped his weapon around in the air a couple of times before bringing it down onto the ground.

THUD!

The proto-dinosaur was rocked off its feet by the impact tremor and if Peter and Winston hadn’t already been on the ground they would have gone sprawling.

THUD!

“Jesus!” Winston gasped, gripping the stability of a boulder with all he had. “How is he doing that?” Peter only stared, clinging to the ground in absolute disbelief.

“He’s not doing that, Zed, he can’t be. Look, it’s getting back up.” Too stupid to connect its prey with the shaking of the earth the giant Howler was on its feet and zeroing in on Ray again. Ray shook his club at it.

“SHE’S A LITTLE BEAUTY! YURRA GOOD ‘LIL SHEILA!!” Ray shouted in a healthy Australian accent. The Howler ignored him and started forward again. Ray picked up and flipped a stone, roughly the size of his head, underneath the front feet of his attacker. “BY CRIKEY CRACK COCAINE! PISS OFF!” Ignoring the rock the Howler reached for Ray with it’s gaping, drooling maw. Unseen, his rescuers raised their throwers again.

Ray snapped his fingers.

BANG! The stone exploded into a fireball. Peter and Winston scuttled behind cover again and didn’t see the Howler rear up, eyes clamped shut from the brilliant terror beyond its nocturnal experience. Screaming, it stretched its body to its full length before throwing itself backwards and away from the horrific heat and glaring light. With a whip of its tail it charged away leaving Ray’s way to his cave free and clear at last. Peter and Winston watched the fog swallow the traumatized monster. Still hiding, they slowly peered over the rocks at Ray.

He didn’t see them. The stone still burned and Ray tarried a moment by the bonfire that he had so dramatically created. He held out his arms, embracing the light and the warmth. His shadow stretched the length of the ‘yard’ towards Peter and Winston and they stared at his black silhouette in dumb amazement. Ray brought his hand down as if he were commanding a dog to sit and the flames disappeared. A smoking pile of ash was all that remained of the stone. Ray stretched and yawned. “Tie me kangaroo down, Sport! Tie me kangaroo down!” he sang. Swinging his club he walked over to his cave, swiveled the door open and crawled in.

Winston and Peter watched the boulder twist shut again and lay staring at the entranceway. They didn’t move for quite a while. “Wh…what?” Peter asked the silence. He had forgotten to blink for the past few minutes and his eyes were watering. He squinched them shut.

“It makes sense,” Winston decided. Peter turned to him, confused and offended. “It does! It makes sense! He’s an Occult Specialist! He had to have picked up a few things. He had to use what he knows because he had nothing else! Damn, Pete, did you see it? Did you see what Ray did?” Winston’s eyes were wide.

“Ralph,” Peter answered, fingers groping towards his scars again.

“Who?”

“Me’n Ralph are going to hang out over here for a second.”

“Oh, okay.”

Peter got up, walked away and leaned over to vomit and no amount of witty poetry stood in his way this time. For Winston’s benefit he groaned “RRRAAAAALLLPPPHHHH!!!!” as he did so and, unable to help it, Winston cracked up laughing. Peter could make anything entertaining. The noise they were making fell flat and unreal in the thick air and the wind swept away whatever was left. Wiping his mouth, the uneasy man walked back again and Winston offered him a flattened and linty piece of Juicyfruit gum that he’d found at the bottom of one of his pockets. “Thanks, Zed.” He concentrated on chewing. He spotted another Dorothy Parker poem that echoed Winston’s earlier point.

Razors pain you;  
Rivers are damp;  
Acids stain you;  
And drugs cause cramp.  
Guns aren’t lawful;  
Nooses give;  
Gas smells awful;  
You might as well live.

“But, damn Pete, did you see him?! Did you see what he did?!” Winston pressed.

Peter offered Winston a hand up. “Zed, I saw…I saw…nothing. I saw nothing. I know nothing. This never happened.”

“But, Pete!”

“Let’s…let’s not embarrass him or anything, okay? No one has to know and we won’t tell.” He straightened his spine. “His secret’s safe with us. Okay?”

“I…well…okay.” Winston looked unsure but Peter didn’t notice.

“Yep. Yes. Nothing happened! Let’s get Ray home before something else doesn’t happen.” Peter realized his thrower was dangling by its cables from his proton pack and, drawing it up hand over hand, he re-holstered it absent-mindedly. He and Winston approached the entrance and stood there for a moment, gathering their composure. Peter knelt and prodded the ‘door.’ It didn’t budge. “How do you knock on stone?” He stood and kicked it as he shrugged out of his pack.

“GERROUT OF IT!! NASTY, BUSHWACKIN’ ANIMALS!!” Ray’s voice caroled out from inside. He thought they were animals? Winston and Peter looked at each other and, miraculously, Peter smiled as he swallowed his gum.

“Sir!” Peter shouted back. “Can we come in and talk to you about Jehovah’s Witnesses and a subscription to The Watchtower?!” Peter heard something clatter to the floor inside. Dropped in shock, evidently. “Or you could just give us a donation?!”

The wind blew.

Winston kept an eye out for attackers.

The wind blew some more.

Peter stared at the door. “It’s only your SOUL at stake, Sir!” he shouted again. No, Ray, you’re not hallucinating, he thought. And you know? I mean what I say.

The boulder swung slowly open a few inches and amber eyes stared up at him in numb amazement. Peter’s pat and ready smile faded. If it were possible, Ray looked even worse up close than he did far away. His light brown eyes looked as if they were lined with kohl. Every crease and smile-line in his face and his lips were black with dust. But he was still young. Oh, hallelujah, Ray was still young. “Hi, Ray.”

“Peter?” Ray breathed. Swimming in unreality, Peter forgot Ray’s earlier display and simply gazed on his friend. Taking in the damage he reached out and swiped at the dust on Ray’s cheek. It refused to come off. Ray twitched as if shocked with a cattle prod. “Peter?”

“Are you coming out or can I come in?” Peter gently asked. Winston held back in the gloom and Peter nodded his approval. Best not to overwhelm Ray all at once.

“I’ll come out.” Peter held out his hand to help him up and Ray took it…and stared at it. He stood up and continued to grip Peter’s hand, Ray’s scarred, bony fingers, fingernails blackened with grime, wrapping around Peter’s warm and clean digits. Grey on pink, it made a unique contrast. “Oh, god,” Ray breathed. “You’re really here. You’re really here.”

“I’m so sorry, Ray. It took us almost fifteen minutes to fix and reboot the portal to get to you. The time differential…how…how long has it been?” Peter whispered, afraid. Ray was so subdued. Had his mind gone? Ray turned their clasped hands this way and that, fascinated. His eyes were dilated and Peter suddenly understood that Ray was in mild shock.

Realizing a question had been put to him Ray struggled to remember what it had been. Winston kept still. Peter repeated his query. Finally Ray answered, “Not long, really. When I could remember to I’d keep track of the ‘days.’ Ahhh, I’d say it’s been around nine months for me. Give or take a few months.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The portal had totally shut down and we couldn’t…AGH!” Peter’s explanation was cut short as Ray tackled him to the ground. Surprised his boots didn’t pop off from the sheer force of it he didn’t even try to defend himself. Whatever beating Ray wanted to give him, he deserved.

“YOU’RE HERE! YOU’RE HERE! DAMN! YOU’RE EARLY! I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU SO SOON!” Only a big smooch could express Ray’s overwhelming joy and he bruised Peter’s cheek from the sheer, delighted force of it. Peter screamed like a girl, on purpose, and struggled to get away. Their out of control momentum sent both men rolling over and over down the hill. Winston helplessly let out a shout of laughter. Ray looked up. “WINSTON!”

“Uh, oh.”

“WINSTON!” Leaving the wreck of Peter Venkman behind Ray jumped up, grabbed Winston around the waist and lifted him bodily, fifty pound pack and all, off the ground. “WINSTON! WINSTON!” He shook the big man in the air like a rag doll and dropped him again. He grabbed him by the front of his coveralls and shook him some more. Peter felt his teeth rattle in sympathy. “Damn, you’re here! I knew you’d come! I knew it! But I didn’t know WHEN! I missed you guys!”

Looking like the victim of a mugging Peter crawled to his feet. Ray released Winston who nearly fell to the ground and threw his arms around Peter again, readjusting every vertebrae in the psychologist’s spinal column. “Ray…oxygen…can’t breathe…!” Ray had always been physically strong before, almost as strong as Winston, but THIS!

“Oh, man! Oh, man! It’s only been months! I thought I’d be here a couple of years, at least!” Ray looked on the verge of emotional overload and Peter wrapped his arms around the distraught man. Ray twisted his hands in Peter’s coveralls. Winston walked up and delivered a few healthy and joyful thumps to Ray’s back. Each solid whack designed to emphasize the fact that We Are Here, We Are Here, We Are Here. “Ah, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it’s happening today! Right now!” Ray released Peter and the three stood close as Ray drew his thin fingers across his eyes and through his hair in that ‘control yourself’ gesture that was so familiar to Winston and Peter. His gestures, his voice and the color of his eyes were the ONLY things that were familiar to them.

Peter’s imagination was kicking in again. What was Egon going to say when he saw Ray? What was Janine going to say? What about, oh god, Ray’s family, what would they say? “Egon’s waiting for us, Ray. And Janine should be back with lunch by now. Ready to go?” he asked as curiosity led him, then Winston, to quickly crouch for a look inside Ray's shelter. What a pit but it, too, was marked over with doodles and hash marks noting the passing time.

And lots of them. "Yeah, let's go now."

“Go?” Ray looked at him in surprise and confusion. “Go? I was building a food cairn, wait, what the hell am I saying? Yes! Oh, yes, I'm ready to go.” Ray sagged. “Get me out of here.” Peter threw an arm over Ray’s shoulders.

“Anything you want to take?”

“No, wait, yes.” Ray ran back to the entrance of his cave, went in, and reemerged with the Thagomizer.

“This is it.”

“Looks mean.” Winston noted. He was obviously bursting with questions and Peter wanted to tape the man’s mouth shut. There was a mighty big Can O’ Worms here and Peter didn’t want it opened.

“It saved my life more times than I can tell.” Ray answered, inspecting it. Peter reclaimed Ray’s shoulders and gave him a shake. Ray gratefully leaned into the human contact.

“Let’s go,” Peter said. Ray, dazed and unbelieving, spared one last, grateful glance at the open door of the cave that had been his sanctuary for close to a year, his time, and, turning away, went.

******************************************************

 

They all stepped out of the gloom, Peter swearing and stomping on something on the ground, communing with nature as usual, and Ray saw Egon shoot to his feet and set the portal controls for decontamination as he dropped the shields. He rushed forward but skidded to a halt as Egon got his first good look at him. He could almost hear Egon gasp. Ray’s grinning wave of greeting was answered by Egon putting his hands to his throat in the internationally recognized ‘I’m Choking’ signal. The three men broke into a panicked run towards the light of the portal and broke through just as Egon was beginning to stagger. Ray felt the portal’s energy zinging across his body and his hair, killing everything that needed to be killed. Adios, muchachos he thought inanely as he slammed into Egon from in front. Later he would explain his punch to Egon’s gut as a modified forward-Heimlich Maneuver. Whatever it was, the cookie fragment he had begun choking on when he saw Ray was dislodged and Egon spit it into his hand. He wheezed for air and threw the bite into the garbage. Finally he turned to Ray.

“No.” His icy blue eyes traveled every inch of Ray’s wasted body. Desperately thin but obviously powerful, Ray’s muscles moved easily underneath his grey coating. Egon shook his head.

“Well, yeah, Egon. Time Differential and all that, y’know.” Ray brought his hand up to block the intense light from his pained eyes. Months of only firelight left him unprepared for the unwavering artificial luminescence. The air was still and clean and the smell of it was so familiar, like a pleasant memory from long ago and far away. He could smell oil, machinery and the intensely clean smell of the washing machine and dryer. Downy Fresh he thought. And Egon! Egon was…damn, he was tall. Dazzled, he stepped forward and hugged him. “I can’t believe I’m back. Today. I can’t believe today was the day! Did I say that already? And, god, coming back here is like stepping through the wardrobe in Narnia, all the lights and everything, my head hurts, do you understand?” Ray realized he was babbling and didn’t care.

Egon stared down at his lost friend, shocked. “We’ve got to take you to the hospital,” he muttered.

“Why? I feel fine!” Ray laughed up at his face and Egon slowly wrapped his arms around himself as if he were standing in a snowstorm. He looked bad. How hard had Ray hit him? Ray glanced at Peter and Winston. They looked as if they also had been punched in the gut. Suddenly he understood. He wasn’t going to get the happy homecoming he’d wanted. No one was going to laugh, shout and throw confetti over his being back. No one had missed him. For them he’d only been gone about thirty minutes. No one was glad to see him. Glad? They were appalled. “Guys, I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.”

“Boop oop a doop! Hee hee!” giggled the rare, red-headed Betty Boop wall clock as it struck the hour. Ray had bought it because Betty reminded him of Janine. Speak of the Devil, the door to the basement opened and a frustrated, feminine Brooklyn growl reached his ears.

“Stupid storm! I had to stay in the restaurant for an hour! And the food…is…” Janine looked down at the stricken group and spied Ray. She froze on the steps. “Cold?”

“Janine!” Ray joyously crossed the basement and placed a foot on the bottom step. “Janine!”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” A lifetime of scattered self-defense training kicked in and Janine braced herself. Swinging a heavy bag of food in the air, she was fully prepared to bring it down on Ray’s head. He stopped where he was and looked up at her, imploringly.

“Janine, stop! It’s Ray!” Egon shouted, rushing forward.

“It is NOT!” Janine shouted back.

It? thought Ray.

“Janine, a power surge pulled Ray into the portal. There’s been a time differential, a lapse lasting some thirty-three minutes for us and…ah…” Egon turned to Peter.

“He said about nine months, give or take,” Peter mumbled.

“Nine months?! Ah…nine months, probably more, for Ray,” Egon continued. “It IS Ray.”

“It is Ray,” Janine echoed, staring numbly down at the filthy creature in front of her.

It? “Really, Janine, it’s me. It’s me.” Janine lowered her food sack onto the steps. Ray watched what looked incredibly like Hurt appear on Janine’s face. She was shocked and hurting for him. Ah, Janine…

“It’s you. Ray, it’s you.” Her gaze followed the lines of his jutting ribs. She pointed at them accusingly. “Where’s the rest of you?” she whispered.

“It got chewed off in Mordor,” He whispered back.

She blanched. “That place with the bugs? You’ve been theah?” Ray nodded. He lifted his leg as if to climb a step towards her but stopped, unsure of his reception. Suddenly Janine stepped down and threw her arms around him. She smelled wonderful. She felt wonderful. He returned her hug with a crushing strength and kissed the top of her head. Janine leaned back to stare at him again. A total stranger with Ray’s eyes grinned down at her.

Her own wet, angry blue eyes glared over at Egon, Peter and Winston, still standing there numb and useless. “I can’t leave you guys alone FOR A MINUTE?!” she shouted and held on tighter. 

******************************************************

 

Dr. Peter Venkman surreptitiously studied Dr. Ray Stantz as the two of them finished a quiet, 4:00 am, meal of Lucky Charms marshmallow cereal. Ever since his return from exile a week ago, Ray had been exhibiting the nervous sleeping habits of a well-caffeinated, neurotic Rat On Acid. He was alert and on guard in this place that should have been comforting and familiar but was not. He’d been gone a long time and the hunt was still on in his mind. Ray had further exhausted himself by visiting every old haunt and friend of his and their reactions were varied. Some believed he was who he claimed to be and others simply did not and turned him away. That hurt. His sleep was not easy and Ray had even offered to move out of the bunkroom so his housemates, Peter, Egon and Winston, could sleep uninterrupted by his tossing and pacing and scratching. Nothing doing.

"Here." Peter picked up the cereal box and refilled Ray's bowl.

"I'm full, Peter!" Ray gently complained.

"Whoever heard of a skinny Ray? EAT, Papa, EAT!!" Peter added a healthy splash of Vitamin D enriched whole milk and waited expectantly. Ray gave him an amused look and swept the bowl gently aside with the back of his hand. Peter frowned. Ray used to do what he was told.

And a skinny Ray was truly an unnatural, rather ugly, thing. Everyone in Ray's extended circle of friends and family, the ones who had accepted him back with open, albeit shocked, arms, had been forcing wonderful delicacies on him since his return but Peter could see no real improvement. The occultist bathed compulsively, ate rarely and his skin was covered in scratches as if something were itching him terribly all over his body. He had a healthy collection of red scars but they would pale into near-invisible cat-scratches in time. Hopefully. Peter suddenly noticed that Ray was studying him almost as clinically as he was being studied by Peter. “Are you going to eat or do I have it stomp it down your throat?” he asked politely.

Ray smiled and blinked his eyes at his friend. “Bein’ with you is all the sustenance I need, Peter,” he said with the full ardor of Cyrano de Bergerac. Peter moved the cereal bowl back into its place and held out the spoon emphatically. Ray blew him a raspberry. Defiance. Peter was simply shocked. Then Ray lifted a near-skeletal hand and compulsively rubbed his pale face in the 'stay alert' slap that Peter had come to loathe.

"Ray," he gently began, "If you won’t eat can’t you, at least, sleep? Why won't you rest?"

"I just can't." Ray shrugged a shoulder. Resting his elbows on the table he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Peter wished, for the millionth time, for a wand to magically wave away what was wrong but, such things being scarce, even for a Ghostbuster, he settled for reaching out and linking his fingers behind his friend's neck in a light embrace.

Ray smiled and gave Peter's arm a reassuring pat. "Don't worry. Landing in Mordor was a shock and coming back here is just as big of a shock. I know I'm home, now, I'm safe. I'm just...readjusting, like Egon said. Readjusting. And I'm sure I'll hit the wall soon, hit it HARD and sleep for days but right now...I'm like that guy's dog. Y'know the dog that drooled whenever that guy rang a bell?"

"Uh, Pavlov's Dog?"

"That's it! I'm Pavlov's Dog!"

"You're a drooling DOG?! That's it. Too much stress. Time for a nice dose of something. Or a two by four to the head."

"Peter, I know you know what I'm talking about. I'm conditioned, like that dog was conditioned. My body, not my brain, my BODY has been rewired to believe that extended sleep is dangerous."

"But, Spot, why is sleep dangerous?" C'mon, Peter mentally pleaded, spill your guts to Dr. Venkman, pass the pain onto ME.

Ray smiled knowingly and leaned away, unwilling to cooperate with Peter's masochistic scapegoat psychology. "I was afraid something would crawl into my ear."

Peter broke a few professional rules and yanked Ray forward by the front of his T-Shirt. "You're blocking!”

"No! I'm serious!" Ray's voice dipped dramatically, "Peterrr, the bugs over there were HUGE! If I stretched out to sleep they'd lie down, too, and throw a leg over me."

Peter blanched with disgust. "Ew. I know. I remember. Don't duck the subject."

"In fact," Ray stopped and stared in surprised recognition over Peter’s shoulder. Then he continued, suddenly excited, "The smallest bug over there was twice as big as that three inch cockroach." He pointed and Peter looked around.

"What...GAH!" Peter sprang out of his chair and stared with hatred at the insect that was making its ponderous way up the kitchen wall. The bloated thing was almost too heavy to climb. "Nasty! Where's a shoe?" Peter made a frantic search of the premises. "Where's a newspaper?!"

"Wait, Peter." Grinning, Ray turned around in his seat and pulled a fork out of the utensil drawer. "Lemme show you something I learned ‘over there.’" He twirled the fork like the most melodramatic knife-thrower in Vegas and took aim.

Peter judged the distance between Ray and the roach. "You can't do it."

"I can, too!"

"Fifty bucks says you can't." Peter hoped he could and quickly. Roaches could fly. They could fly right onto a guy's face!

"You're on." Ray brought his wrist down sharply, there was a silver flash in the air and suddenly the roach was impaled against the wall, thin, red legs scrabbling uselessly against the plaster.

Pausing only a moment over Ray's deadly new skill Peter exulted, "Yes! You GO, Ray!" He made a mental note to bury that fork deeply in the garbage.

Ray walked over and pulled the ex-eating utensil out of the wall and waved it at Peter, who cringed. "Fifty bucks for me!"

"You got it. Now, go flush it!" Peter made frantic 'shoo' motions but Ray just stood there.

"Flush it?" Ray asked, all innocence. "You mean waste it? I don't think so." He eyed his prize with exaggerated glee.

"Will you PLEASE get rid..." Peter stopped. Ray was laughing. The nasal heeeeheeeheee giggle of a very familiar cinematic madman. Ray was doing an impression of Count Dracula's zoophagous toady, Renfield.

Renfield the Bug Eater.

Peter shuddered. "Yuck, that's REAL funny. Now go flush..."

Ray bit the head off the cockroach and chewed it thoughtfully. The crunch, crunch, crunch could be heard all around the world. Peter’s eyes bulged and he howled directly from his soul. "You...that...YOU SICK BASTARD!! OH, GOD! OH, GROSS!"

"You want some? I saved the juicy part for you." Ray offered the fork and the headless roach waved its legs at Peter.

"GET IT AWAY!!"

"Protein, Peter!!" Ray lunged and Peter grabbed his wrist, keeping the fork well away as they staggered around the kitchen, Ray was genuinely laughing now at Peter's violent refusal of his generosity.

"GROSSGROSSGROSSGROSSGROSSGROSS!!!"

"Try it! C’mon, ‘The Blood Is The Life’ and all that crap!" Ray happily shouted.

They tipped the table over and slipped on spilled cereal. The fork flew out of Ray's hand and it landed with a clatter in front of the stove. "Hey!” He complained. “You made me lose my lunch!"

"YOU SICK PUPPY!!!"

"What? Something awry?" Ray blinked innocent eyes at his revulsed friend.

"I can't believe you did that! How can you stand it?!"

Ray inched in closely, grinning. "If you get hungry enough you can stand anything. Aw, Peter, calm down. Calmmmm downnnn. Here. C'mere." He threw a brotherly arm around his squeamish friend. "Everything is gonna be fine."

"That was just...just...nasty…" Peter had gooseflesh on his gooseflesh.

"I know. You are so easy sometimes.” Ray patted Peter’s shoulder in a comforting, soothing way and sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Peter shuddered. “Hey. Hey, Peter?"

"God, what now?" Peter glared at him.

"KISS ME!!" Ray's hug turned into a Half-Nelson.

"NOOOOOO!!" The esteemed Psychologist broke free and fled down the stairs, his respected colleague right on his heels. "BUG-LIPS!! YOU GOT BUG-LIPS!! BASTARD, GET AWAY!!"

"Ah, C'mon! I really MISSED you!!"

"GIT!!" Now Peter was laughing too as he fled across the garage to put Ecto-1, the company hearse, between himself and Renfield Ray. They did a few frantic circuits around and around the old car and the shouts and guffaws rang all through the old firehouse. Suddenly executing a move that would have been impossible one hundred pounds ago Ray made a standing leap onto Ecto's hood and smoothly dove for his quarry on the other side. Peter hadn't been a star college quarterback for nothing and, with a yelp, he dropped and rolled under the old hearse. Ray hit the ground and rolled to his feet with nonchalant ease, like a pouncing cat that MEANT to miss. He casually glanced under the car and Peter gave him the finger. "Nyah!"

"That's not nice!" Ray leapt onto the hood again and started to jump up and down. "Come outa there, Jerk-Off! I exorcise thee! I command thee to come OUT!!!"

Peter listened to the shocks squeak as the old vehicle lurched alarmingly up and down. He hoped the oil-pan, or whatever, didn't give way while he was under there. "I'm telling Winston!! He'll kill you for jumping on his girlfriend!"

Ray gave a couple more crashing leaps to Ecto's hood and collapsed, leaning back against the windshield he was almost insensate with laughter. Peter joined in between sneezing fits from all the dust and began to sneak out the back end. "Peter?"

"Yeah?" Came the response from directly behind his ear. Ray didn't even jump, a decided improvement over the nervous twitchiness that had consumed him lately.

"Peter, I’m home. I feel really good. The lights aren’t so bright anymore. Y’know?”

“Mmmm.” Keep talking, Peter willed. Keep talking. Keep talking, you bug-eating bastard, keep talking.

“Nothing’s hunting me. Everything is clean. I’m not waking up from this. You’re here, you’re all here and you’re not going away. It’s not a dream. And…uh…suddenly, I can't get up."

Peter dropped the protective tire-iron he had found onto the concrete floor and it landed with a CLANG! "You can't get it up? Stress."

"I can't move!"

"Break a leg? Hopefully?"

"No, I...Peter...I think I just hit the wall. I...wow...I don't think I've ever been...so tired." He reached out into the darkness and Peter seized his hand in a warm, real grip. Ray's eyes closed against sudden exhausted tears. “I think I can sleep, now.”

"Well, hell, then." Peter replied and, gripping his battered friend around the shoulders, slid him off the hood into a standing position. "Time to go to bed." Ray stumbled twice going up the stairs and would have fallen if Peter had not supported him. In the communal bunk room a good household spirit had evidently been at work, Ray's bed covers were turned down and his linen smoothed invitingly. Egon and Winston were perfectly quiet, too-obviously asleep, in their bunks. Ray flopped down like a rag doll and pulled up the gloriously warm and clean blankets. "I'm sorry, Peter," The found man mumbled. "I was just joking."

"I think I might live. Go to sleep. Now."

“I bet you’re sorry I’m back, huh?” Ray asked.

“You said it. I’m sending you ‘home’ tomorrow you…you bug eatin’ pain in my ass.” Peter loomed over his patient threateningly.

Ray smiled sadly. "Oh, Peter. Okay, I...goodnight."

"Goodnight. For a change." Peter watched Ray close his eyes and hoped he'd get the deepest sleep he'd had in days. Possibly months. Months. Peter abruptly shook his head against the thought of that nightmare. Everything was all right, now. Ray was home. He was safe. All was well. Peter turned away to his own bunk. And stopped, eyes narrowing to slits. Oh, yeah, it was business as usual at the firehouse again, for sure.

"Which one of you assholes put that fork in my bed?" Still ‘asleep’ Winston and Egon pointed accusing fingers at each other. “Funneeee.” Unwilling to touch the stainless steel, Peter balled up the top blanket around the offending insect and walked it, at arm’s length, down three stories to the back alley where he threw it onto the mountain of garbage that had buried the dumpster. Stupid garbage strike. Still, the night was warm and clear and he paused for a moment, breathing in the faint smell of refuse, rats and pigeons as he stood looking up at the bright stars.

Five days ago, moments after his dramatic rescue, Ray had leapt up the stairs into the arms of a thunderstorm, a storm that had damn near killed his friends and was the direct cause of nine months of misery for himself. Ray had opened his arms, pelted by the hard rain, and he laughed and laughed like a man in love. Swirls of grey ran off his body and were washed from the roof in a steady stream. Peter remembered how he, Egon, Winston and Janine had stood there, willingly getting soaked to the skin, and watched Ray like one would watch an escaped freak from a sideshow - with equal parts horror, amusement and fascination. Ray had turned, seized Janine, and began to waltz her around the roof as the rain fell and the lightning flashed. Peter, finally realizing some celebration was called for, had grabbed Winston and pulled him into an impromptu tango. Egon just stood there and suffered the rain as he watched Ray and Janine whirl around and around and around. Ray had kissed her. Of course, Ray had kissed Peter, too, but…uh…not on the mouth. Egon, to his credit, did not react in any way. Janine’s take on that particular moment was unknown. She probably got a mouthful of mud.

Peter smiled at the continuing soap-opera that was life in the firehouse and turned to go in. All was well.

Tea.

He stopped and smelled the air. Tea. Tea and cinnamon and oranges…a cold chill of foreboding raked down his spine and suddenly the stars were too bright, the air was too warm and the alley stench was choking him. Ray had knocked over Godzilla’s ugly twin sister with a bone. He had started a fire with a snap of his fingers. Peter’s hand covered his forehead and he shrank against the brick wall of the opposite building, the firehouse looming impossibly tall before him. He felt he was facing a cliff. One step towards his home was a step off the edge of a precipice that could never be scaled again. Peter shook his head. “No. No. Everything is okay. Everything is back to normal. Ray is fine. He’s home and safe and no one has to know.”

_You know, Sweetheart._

A warm caress swept Peter’s cheek and he glanced around wildly. No one was there. He was alone, all alone, having a nice panic attack in the middle of a filthy alley. If his girlfriends could only see him now.

_You know._

“I don’t know anything. I didn’t see anything and nothing is going to change.” Peter growled.

_Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt._

Peter threw himself inside. By the time he got to the third flight of steps his color had returned and he had half convinced himself that not only did nothing happen in Mordor, nothing had also happened in the alley. There’s a great lot of nothing going on in the world. Rather boring really. Re-entering the bunkroom he saw that Egon and Winston were up, quietly talking off to the side. With a shock he realized that Egon had the Thagomizer and was taking readings with his PKE meter. Peter glared at Winston.

Winston looked back defiantly. “Yeah, Pete, I finally told him.”

“I’m surprised you held out this long,” Peter snarled casting a quick glance at Ray’s bunk. He was so out cold he looked dead. He waited for Ray to take a breath or two and then, reassured, he turned back. “Put that thing away!”

Egon’s eyes were lasers of cool blue disquiet and he held up the meter. “Residual energies only, Winston.” he said. “The ‘earth shaking’ power you spoke of did not come from the club.” He pointed the meter at Ray and the meter reacted, sensor rods expanding and the electronic hum was pitched considerably higher. “Fascinating. He’s ‘hot.’”

Peter stalked over and snatched the meter away. “You can ask him for a date later, Spengs.” He threw the meter at the garbage can and it made a great clang as it went in. Apprehensive, the three men looked at Ray but he didn’t twitch. Peter angrily swung around again. “Nobody needs to know how Ray survived in Mordor. Ray doesn’t need to know that we know. Let’s all just forget it, OK?”

“He’s not a criminal, Peter,” Winston said.

Egon looked at Ray, a strange betrayed expression on his face. “He’s certainly not what he was. We need to run further tests,” he said slowly.

Unimpressed, Peter squared off against them both. “He’s not a scientific experiment either. You two can’t study Ray like the latest variety of gooper to pop out of the Netherworld.”

“Don’t turn this around on us, Peter, you’ve had your head in the sand ever since we got back. Why don’t we ask Ray about it?” Winston said.

“Leave Ray alone, he’s been through enough!” Peter snarled.

Winston said. “Oh. I understand. He’s protecting Ray, you see, Egon? How very selfless. And convenient.” Winston crossed his arms in disgust.

“With further study we may be able to circumvent or put a cap on Ray’s ‘abilities’ before he hurts himself or others,” Egon began again, tweaking a sharpened key on the Thagomizer with cautious attention.

Peter brought the discussion to a screeching halt as he turned his back on them and crawled into his ostentatious four-poster bed. “Both of you get fucked.”

A red blush of anger spread over his fair skin as Egon very deliberately relaxed his grip on the bone club and put it back on it’s place on the wall, next to Ray’s Frankenstein poster. He got into his own neat, militaristic bunk and pulled the covers up. “This does merit further discussion when we’re all better rested. And may I add fuck you as well, Peter.”

Winston sighed and turned out the light. “Further discussion and study of our best friend. We’re all fucked.” He laid down on his own comfortably worn double bed and determinedly closed his eyes. Peter wanted to strangle them both.

Playing dead had stood Ray in good stead before as it did now. Awakened by the crash of the meter hitting the trash can Ray decided an hour had passed before the angry breathing of the three men had modified into the deep breathing of sleep. He got up, walked noiselessly over to the wastebasket and retrieved the PKE meter. He flicked it on and took a reading of himself. Gosh. Fascinating, indeed. He placed the meter on a bookshelf and stood at the foot of Peter’s four-poster and watched his friend for a while. Even in sleep Peter looked tense and unhappy. Moonlight shone through the window and gleamed on the scars on his forehead. They seemed slick with an unhealthy, cold sheen. Ray sighed.

He went back to bed and slept long and hard.

 

***********************************

 

This bodes ill. Janine’s spirit cringed as she spotted Winston, perched on the corner of her desk, and Ray, swiveling back and forth in her chair. They watched her as she came in to work bright and early on a Monday morning, four weeks after Ray’s return. She knew she looked slightly goofy in her business-fabulous ensemble accessorized with scuffed walking sneakers but the two were smiling as if she were a chocolate éclair. She looked from one man to the other and back again with a tight smile on her face as she crossed the garage floor.

“Morning, guys,” she said.

“Mornin.’”

“Good morning, Janine.” Ray beamed and moved out of her chair. She sat down, rather enjoying the warmth he had left behind, and fished her high heels out of her bag as she kicked off her sneakers. She put the sneakers in the bag and the heels on her feet. Properly attired she smoothed her skirt and looked up at them expectantly. Ray spoke again, “Winston made you some coffee. Just the way you like it,” and pointed at a steaming mug on her desk.

“Why, thaaaank you.” Janine took up a sip and gathered her mental, physical, emotional and moral strength and hoped it would all be enough. “Now. What d’ya want?”

Winston leaned in. “We want your soul.”

Ray snickered and Janine rolled her eyes. “Well, typical Monday,” she said and looked them over again. Both men were smiling but evidently tense and sad also. Truly, everyone in the firehouse had been somewhat on edge ever since Ray’s return a month ago. “What’s the story?” she asked him, rightly guessing he was the problem. He was finally well-rested and not as skeletal as he had been and she was glad to see some measure of peace in his eyes. Damn, what was wrong now? Ray opened and closed his mouth for a moment then looked to Winston for help.

Winston dove right in. “Ray can do magic.”

Janine nodded her head. “Uh huh.”

Ray floundered in also, with a gasp. “He doesn’t mean card tricks, Janine. I’m not a magician. A conjurer. I can actually DO magic. I guess you can call me a witch or a warlock if you want to be dramatic about it.”

“Right,” Janine affirmed and waited for the bad news. The men shared a surprised glance.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Ray asked her. She shook her head, smiling slightly. “Uh, Janine, you’re not getting it. Look at this.” Ray pointed an index finger upwards. The coffee can that held all her pens, pencils and candy slid off the desk, hovered a moment and landed gently back into place. He turned back to Janine, with reluctance, to check her reaction.

“Yay!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands. Winston laughed and Ray mimed wilting to the floor in shock.

He clawed his way back up the side of her desk. “Janine! Aren’t you the least bit surprised?”

“Well, no, should I be?” she asked. “Is this some kind of big secret?”

“It SHOULD be, yeah.” Winston said, grinning at his friends with relief. “How did you find out?” Ray was staring at her with something close to appalled adoration and Janine waved her hands dismissively.

“I didn’t ‘find out’ anything. I just always figured that, since Ray KNEW so much that he’d have to be able to DO some of it. He never liked to talk about magic so I never asked him to show me. Although, I always wanted to see something. Thanks, Ray!” she beamed at him.

“Stick with me and I’ll show you such things…” Ray wiggled his eyebrows lecherously and Janine’s jaw dropped.

“Ray!” she shouted. Not long ago such flirtation would have been beyond the man. He was so changed. Janine smiled at him, however. Ray was still Ray and he was smiling back.

Winston hated to interrupt but he leaned in anyway. “Janine, listen, Egon and Peter aren’t taking this well at all. Egon wants to study this ‘phenomenon’ and…”

"He wants to end it. ‘Put a cap on it,’” Ray finished. Janine flushed red with shame and anger.

“Oh, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t!” she insisted. “You’re not dangerous!”

“Um.” Ray looked at Winston and then down at the floor. “Actually…”

Winston held his hand up and shook his head. “No, no. Ray, you’re as dangerous as I am when I’ve got a thrower or a gun in my hand. It’s not your power that makes you dangerous, it’s what you choose to do with that power.” Winston nudged him with his elbow. “I got that out of a Spiderman comic.” Ray grinned. "With great power comes..."

Janine interrupted “Ray, if you could make me a broom that flies I’ll be forever in your debt. It would save so much on bus fares.” she said.

“You don’t already have one?” Winston was shocked. Janine gave him the glare she usually reserved for her nagging mother and the three of them laughed. But it didn’t take long for them to stop and silence settled over the garage again. Janine sighed.

“Egon wouldn’t really try to…to lobotomize you, Ray. You’re his friend. Have you talked to him?”

“No,” Ray admitted. “He’s fallen in with Peter’s, um, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy for now. They’re watching me. I dunno, waiting for me to start sacrificing puppies or something before they decide what to do with me. I don’t blame either of them. They’ve been through ten different levels of magical hell over the years.”

“So have you,” Winston said and his face tensed with anger. “So have all of us. This is ridiculous. You’re not a criminal, Ray.”

“They’re not accusing me of anything, Winston, they’re just afraid. Cautious. And it’s not like they’re hiding under their beds. Me and Peter were up until two last night watching a Star Trek marathon. Egon and I have been working on the Portal, installing new safety locks. I’m nine months out of practice, but we’re working well together. They just…” Ray threw his hands up in frustration. “They just don’t want to talk.”

“Neither do you,” Janine said.

“I don’t have much to talk about. Find it, kill it, eat it, find it, kill it, eat it, find it, run like hell from it, find something else, kill it, eat it. For almost a year. Not very interesting.”

Janine looked at him as if he were deranged. “Ray, not very interesting? Do you realize how different you are? You’ve had nine months so you don’t notice the change. You were gone from us for about thirty minutes and the guy I left isn’t the same guy I came back to. Do you understand?”

Ray blinked at her. “I’m skinnier. I can hunt giant lizards and I have my magic back. Other than that I’m exactly the same.” Janine turned to Winston with a wide-eyed HELP ME expression on her face.

“Okay, Ray,” Winston began. “Here’s what I’ve noticed, just to give you an idea. I’ve never seen you more confident. You used to apologize for living just about every single day but you don’t anymore. You’re calmer. You seem older. A lot older than just a few months but you’re also a lot happier. You aren’t knocking yourself out trying to please everybody. You’re still trying to see all sides and keep the peace but that’s just your nature. You’re not so…” Winston made a grasping motion and looked to Janine for the perfect words.

She hesitated and then laid a hand on Ray’s arm. “You don’t seem so…you don’t seem to need us so much anymore,” she said.

Ray was aghast. “That’s not true! That’s not at all true, I missed you guys so much, every single day I just about went crazy wanting you all with me again! I almost died when I came home and saw everyone, at last.”

Janine rubbed his arms in a frantic comforting way. “No! No, that’s not what I mean. I mean you’re more secure with us.” She threw the ball back to Winston and he caught it easily.

“It seemed like, some days, you couldn’t turn your back on us or we’d, I don’t know, do something to you or disappear from you. You wouldn’t say ‘shit’ if you had a mouthful if you thought it might offend one of us. You’re not…” Winston looked towards the ceiling for inspiration and Ray and Janine waited, on edge. Winston smiled. “You don’t treat us like glass anymore. Every time a fight or a disagreement came up you’d go so pale I thought you might glow in the dark.”

Janine interrupted. “It’s as if you trust us now, Ray.”

Ray rubbed his face and gave out a silent laugh. “It’s not that I trust you. Or that I didn’t trust you. Or maybe it is, hell, I don’t know. I can only say that I finally trust myself. I feel safe in my own skin, at last, so I guess that translates as feeling safe with you. I don’t know.” He gazed at them with undeniable warmth and wonder. “I do know that you have no idea how much it means to me that you would know about the magic thing, and not care. Neither of you so much as blinked.” He sighed right from the depths of his toes. “It’s such a relief and I’m so, so glad you’re both still here for me.”

“Awww!” Janine threw her arms around him and Winston gave him a couple of good, hard slaps on the back. Then Janine released him, serious again. “The real biggie is the magic thing. That’s what Egon and Peter are hung up on and, believe me, me’n Winston are curious, too. Quote ‘I have my magic _back.’_ unquote. Where did it go? Where did you get it from in the first place? What can you do? What can you not do? Why were you so hung up on it? On and on and so forth.” She let him go but kept a supporting arm around his shoulders.

Ray was daunted. “That’s a long story. A really long story. Okay,” he made himself more comfortable. “I, uh, I had a really unusual family, especially my mom…”

“Wait. Save it,” Winston interrupted. Ray and Janine turned to him, surprised. “No, I’m serious. Don’t tell us yet. I’m going to call a meeting and you can tell all of us. This is important. And you know? You can use it.”

“Use it?”

“Peter’s been dying to crack into your head over your family since you two were teaching in college. If you’re finally going to talk about your mom he’s going to want a front row seat.”

“You’re right! I need to talk and Peter needs to listen so all I have to do to drag him over to my side...”

“Is to talk, finally. Talk about hitting Pete where it hurts! And Egon won’t stand alone so he’ll fall in with us and everything will be okay!”

“Geez, guys, manipulate much?!” Janine didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Ray’s tone was worried as he turned to her. “Um, you won’t, ah, support Egon will you?”

Janine felt a cold whoosh of anger fly through her body. She was nowhere near that weak. She and Egon were close but she wasn’t his doormat. And Egon wouldn’t DARE study Ray. Would he? “Nah. He’s wrong about this one. ‘Put a cap on it.’ my fat Aunt Fanny. I’m on your side, Ray.”

“We’ve got her soul!” Winston rejoiced and Ray high-fived him. Janine’s anger faded as she laughed at them.

Winston got up. “No better time like the present. I’m calling the meeting now so you two put your boxing gloves on.” He walked determinedly up the stairs, obviously preparing his own battle strategies for dragging Egon out of the lab and Peter out of denial long enough for everyone to sit down at a table together. Ray and Janine watched him go with some trepidation. Ray made a strange, not happy noise and pulled Janine closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly and despondently resting his chin on the top of her head. Janine settled against him and hugged him back, sending him all the warmth and comfort she could. Suddenly she laughed and he smiled down at her.

“What?”

“You really have changed, Ray. Time was this…” she gave him a squeeze. “… would make you go so red. You’d stutter and let go and fall over something trying to get away. You were so shy.”

Ray looked her full in the face. He wasn’t blushing at all. “Life’s too short to be so fearful, huh?” She could feel his breath on her face. They were so close…Janine let him go and stepped back, composing herself.

She met his eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, Ray. You’re no fun anymore.”

******************************************************

“A meeting?” Peter asked Winston with panicked annoyance. “Why do we need a meeting? What’s there to decide?”

“Perhaps we need to establish the limits of Ray’s abilities and seek ways to understand and limit them. In the interests of safety,” Egon answered.

“Why don’t we just put him in containment, Egon?” Peter sneered. “Or we could dissect him? I’m not going to any meeting, this is ridiculous.”

“That’s what I said,” Winston interrupted quickly. “But Ray wants to have a little chat with us.” Winston brought out the figurative carrot. “Something about his mom, I dunno.”

“His MOM?!” Peter repeated. “His mom. Right. Okay.” His head lolled back on his neck and he gurgled sarcastically for a moment. “Gggaarrggh.” Then, with a defeated groan, he leaned over and hit the intercom switch. “Janine?”

“Yeah?”

Peter paused a moment over Janine’s innocent and amused tone of voice and glared at Winston. Winston smiled beatifically back. “Firehouse Meeting from the Depths of Hell will begin in the kitchen in five minutes. Round up Ray, lock the front door, loan me fifty bucks and turn on the answering machine.”

“Can do, except for the fifty bucks. You have to actually pay me before I can lend out money, y’know.”

“Oh, details, details. Peter out.” Peter switched off the intercom and his smile faded as he saw Egon eagerly gathering a psychokinetic meter, an energy analyzer, a cell-sample kit and a pair of ecto-scopes. “Gonna have some fun, mighty witch-hunter?”

Egon angrily turned to him. “We need to know what we’re dealing with here!”

“We’re dealing with Ray!” Peter shouted back.

“Guys!” Winston stopped them. “We haven’t dealt with anything since Ray came back. We haven’t talked. That’s all we’re going to do now is talk. Believe me, I think Ray has a lot to say. Put those things down, Egon, you don’t need them.” Egon slowly complied. “Let’s go, guys.” Egon swept past them both without a word and headed down the stairs. Winston headed for the door as well and, noticing Peter hadn’t moved, stopped. “C’mon, Pete, we’re just going to talk.”

Peter closed his eyes for a moment and slowly opened them again. “Winston, you just don’t know.” Winston started at his hollow, haunted voice.

“I don’t know what?”

“You think this is so simple. Ray has magic. Whoopee. But, no, it’s not simple at all.” Peter silently moved closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. “The storm, Winston. The storm is breaking. Nothing is going to be the same. A sea-change is going to hit all of us like the lightning did and I’ll be goddamned if we’ll be able to survive it this time. This is more than one of my pseudo-psychic bullshit hunches, it’s a fact, and I know I’m right. I’m always right. This house is about to blow wide open.” Winston rocked back on his heels, a sudden look of real fear on his face. Peter walked through the door and turned back to Winston, still standing stunned in the frame. “I thought if I could ignore it long enough we’d all be alright but I was wrong. So, c’mon, Winston. Let’s go talk.”

Winston numbly followed Peter to the kitchen.

******************************************************

Winston decided that Peter was NOT going to fake him out with hysterics either real or put on. He took the meat tenderizer that served them for a gavel out of the fork drawer and took control of the proceedings himself. He sat down at the head of the kitchen table as immovable as a two-ton stone and silently dared anyone to say anything. Peter and Egon stared at him for a moment. Without a word Peter sank into a chair and Egon followed his example. Winston suddenly smelled pizza and Ray and Janine walked in bearing hot and deliciously greasy food. Janine had obviously placed her order with the Pizza Plaza long before Peter had ordered her to. Winston nodded approvingly and got up to get the plates and napkins. Good thinking on her part. It was an odd breakfast but a meeting of this sort should not be entered into with low blood sugar. Egon and Peter got up also and began to round up glasses, ice, sweet tea and Coca Cola.

Everyone moved mechanically and with extreme politeness. Winston waited until everyone was seated again with drinks and pizza, and in Janine’s case, notepad and pen, in hand before he picked up the tenderizer and pounded the corner of the table three times. The ice in the glasses chimed. “Okay, should we read the minutes of the last meeting?”

Janine looked up. “We were interrupted by that Class Five so the last meeting deteriorated into a lot of screamin’. D’you want to hear that?”

“’Yeah, I call this meeting to orrrrGGAAAIGHH!!!!’” Ray laughed. “I’d forgotten about that! That was a really gooey one.”

“Right. We had to clean the kitchen with a garden hose,” Winston gagged.

“Good times, man.”

“Yeah, good times.”

Peter chewed his thumbnail and didn’t join in the fun. Ray’s smile died. “I have a question,” Egon said, folding his long fingers before him on the table. “What exactly is this meeting going to be about? What are we here to decide?”

“We’re not here to decide anything,” Janine began.

Peter took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to interrupt. “Yes, we are. Just wait.”

Janine turned on him but before she could let loose Winston pounded his mallet again. “Listen up, people. I hereby call this meeting to order. And there will, indeed, be order. You will ask permission to speak. You will not bust in with your own bullshit when someone else is talking. There will be no fighting.” He slammed the mallet down hard enough to make the pizza box jump then laid it aside, point made. He thought for a moment. “The purpose of this meeting…is to gather a full report…” He waited while Janine picked up her pen and began to take the minutes in earnest. “…to gather from Dr. Raymond Stantz a full report on his experiences while trapped in the dimension nicknamed ‘Mordor’ and to hear an explanation of the occult abilities he manifested, and continues to manifest, as a result.” He glared at Egon. “Then we will determine what danger, if any, will result from Dr. Stantz’s new abilities. Should any danger be PROVEN,” he let the word hang in the air for a moment and Janine underlined it twice. “Then we will decide what to do about it.”

“Isn’t it nice being on trial, Dr. Stantz?” Peter asked Ray. “Too bad we lost the handcuffs.” Winston was suddenly furious.

“Peter, I know you’re trying to stall so knock it off,” Ray answered, amber eyes narrowed to slits at the psychologist. “You’re not going to disrupt the meeting with guilt.”

“Oh, it’s on now,” Peter sneered and Ray flipped him the bird.

Keeping his anger under wraps, more anger at himself for letting Peter goad him than anything else, Winston pounded the mallet again. “Peter. Don’t start. We’re all on to you.” Peter leaned back in his chair with a frustrated and malicious light in his eyes. “Ray. We’re ready to listen.” He got right to the heart of the matter. “What’s up with the magic?”

“And what does your mother have to do with it?” Peter asked, leaning forward again. “What happened to your mother?” he laid a gentle hand on Ray’s arm.

Ray smiled at him. “Wow, Peter, you don’t quit. How do you sleep at night, Captain Chickenheart?” An expression of rage and shame crossed Peter’s face and he withdrew his hand. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair again, avoiding the disbelieving stares of his teammates. Winston hefted his mallet but there were no outbursts from anyone. Abandoned, everyone’s pizza began to grow cold.

“Go ahead, Ray,” Winston said into the silence.

Ray took a sip of coke. “Well, of course, the story does start with my mother. And, of course, she was a witch. A kitchen witch. White Magic, herbs and positive spells. And, of course, she taught me everything she could. Dad was amused, he had no talent for it but he was delighted with the two of us. He had his own skills, y’know, he could field strip a TV in one minute flat. I had such a blast as a kid with my Dad teaching me about the physical world, electronics and mechanics, and my Mom teaching me about the spiritual world. Hidden paths, runes and inner power. I felt like I had ALL the answers at my fingertips and I hated going to sleep at night. Too much fun to be had in our house.” Ray’s eyes were dry and Winston was reminded of his own mother. The still, pained way she would sit when she had no more tears left. The magnitude of Ray’s loss hit him as he thought about how he would feel if he ever lost Nellie Zeddemore. If Ray didn’t cry, Winston was very close to crying for him. Anticipating, Janine sniffed and lowered her head over her pad, hiding her eyes.

“They died while I was at camp, three hundred miles away. It was horrible. I got the full story from another loner witch who sensed what went on but wasn’t powerful enough to intervene.” Ray’s hands began to restlessly wander the table rubbing away invisible dust. “A self-styled ‘sorceress’ had just moved into Morrisville and was making trouble. She called herself Eyre, as in Jane Eyre, but her real name was Berta Googe. She was sick and malicious and hung out at the local youth center trying to pick up twelve year old boys. The authorities finally gave her 24 hours to leave town. It was all they could do. Back in those days there were no laws for dealing with freaks like her. Berta went ballistic and decided she was going to have revenge. She went home and tried to call up a demon.” Ray’s hands passed through his hair and he paused for a long time.

“I did some detective work on her. What connections she had said she was incompetent but this spell she got right, somehow. Bang. There was a Class Seven in Morrisville.” Winston and Janine shuddered. Even Egon looked disturbed. Peter continued to stare at the floor.

“Too bad for Berta. She was eaten immediately. And Mom, she was five miles away but she sensed that that thing had come into the world. She tried to magically bind it long-distance to a rock or a dead tree. It didn’t work and it became aware of her. It came after her.” Janine’s head drooped even lower. No one could look at Ray and his voice droned on into the still kitchen as if he were a radio that someone had left on. “Mom sacrificed her life and Dad's life for the energy she needed to blow that thing up. The house began to burn. The firemen came, got it under control, and reported to the entire town what they saw inside.” Peter was looking at Ray now, a sudden terrible dread and understanding dawning on his face. Winston wondered at it.

“They found what was left of Dad against the bookshelves. They saw Mom skyclad and relatively unmarked, skyclad means naked, sorry, in the middle of a protective pentacle in the living room. They could feel the evil vibes the Seven left behind…”

“And you came home,” Peter said, “To learn that you were the orphan spawn of Satan Worshipers.”

“Exactly,” Ray affirmed. “That’s exactly what they thought. They were small town people, they didn’t understand, you see.” Peter moved to grasp Ray’s arm but stopped. Janine sniffed again and Egon scooted his chair closer to her. She smiled at him, gratefully. Winston could only shake his head in horror. Years ago, if he had been first on the scene, he would have made the same assumption and he’d lived in New York all his life. So much for ‘small town’ attitudes. Ah, ignorance. It’s what makes the world go around.

Ray continued, “You can’t imagine what it was like. Living in that shithole until I was old enough to get away to college. You can’t know. You can’t. And every last one of those bastards, the ones that called me evil and tried to, literally, beat the hell out of me on a regular basis, they were the ones that my Mom and Dad had died to save.” Ray drained his glass and got up to get more ice. It clunked dully into his glass and Winston could feel the chill from the freezer. Ray sat back down and picked up the liter bottle of Coca Cola. He poured. The coke fizzed.

“Magic was a misery,” Ray said at last. “I lost everything to it. It had killed my parents. It had ruined my life. And I was trying so hard to conform, to convince everybody that I was a good kid, a smart and worthwhile kid, so I just smothered every bit of it in my system. I blocked out everything. I denied everything. I denied my parents. I denied Mom. If I could forget her I could forget the pain of losing her. Of losing everything I loved.” He drained his glass again.

“It worked, too. But there was some weird part of me that couldn’t give it up completely. I went into Para-psyche. I became an Occult Expert. I financed this business. I loved the technology. Using my brain to fight the good fight. But then more and problems cropped up that technology couldn’t solve. I used the old Witch Hunter self-delusion, y’know, ‘I’m not nasty and magical myself but I can use magical _tools_ if I had to’ but it didn’t work. Something inside me was eating it’s way out and, I swear, if I hadn’t taken my little vacation I would have had a nervous breakdown.” He picked at a piece of cold pepperoni.

“I fell in Mordor. Fell hard. I had nine months right by myself to come to terms with my life and what I could do and what I knew. And I did. I am, now, the person I was meant to be. I’m not hungry anymore. And I have to pee. I’ll be right back.” Ray got up and escaped in the direction of the bathroom. Janine threw her pen down and blew her nose on a Pizza Plaza napkin. Egon kept close to her, for his own comfort as much as hers, Winston could tell, and Peter pushed his plate out of the way to lay his head on the table. He mumbled something.

“What was that, Pete?”

“I said ‘We haven’t even started yet.’”

“Started what?” Egon asked.

Peter rubbed his forehead. “You’ll see.”

Ray came back and sat, his eyes down.

“Ray, we are so sorry.” Janine took his hand and he smiled, leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

“I know. Thank you. Don’t think I’m going to shut up about her any time soon. I’ve got a lot of good stories. But let me get back to it.” He breathed in deep. Everyone watched him expectantly and Janine’s pen was poised over her notepad. “I really don’t have anything more to say. I used my refound, wait, is that a word?”

“No, but it works for me,” Janine assured him.

“My refound abilities to survive in Mordor,” Ray continued. “Mordor really is just nine months of Catch It, Kill It and Eat It Before It Eats Me so I don’t have to go into any great detail about it right now. I will say I had gotten sick and weak. I needed fire and I was basically trapped in the cave that I had fortified for myself. I HAD to use magic. But I’m not giving excuses, I’m not ashamed of what I did or had to do, and I’m not ashamed of myself or what I can do now. As to what exactly I can do, well, I can do a lot but I’m rusty. I need to find my Mom’s recipe box and brush up on what I’ve forgotten.”

Egon raised a hand and Winston acknowledged him. “The chair recognizes Egon Spengler.”

Egon looked uncomfortable but determined. “Raymond, you have access to considerably more than the small ‘positive’ spells your mother left behind. Can we trust you not to go…not to explore more dangerous avenues?”

“Can you trust me not to do anything stupid?” Ray clarified.

“Ah, I would not have put it that way.” Egon was nonplussed by Janine’s sudden glare.

“After what happened to Berta? After what happened to my parents? Not bloody likely, as the English say. You can trust me.” He poked Egon on the shoulder. “I won’t go looking for trouble.” He raised his hand and waved it in front of Winston.

Winston rolled his eyes and complied. “The chair recognizes Ray Stantz.”

“I have a proposal. Give me a probationary period. Fall and Winter is coming up, our worst, busiest time, so let’s see if I can keep it together under pressure without turning us all into poodles or something. That should reassure everybody.”

“Um,” Winston said. “And if we do turn into poodles?” Winston looked at Peter, half expecting a suggestion for a touring dog show, but Peter just sat there.

“Then I’ll leave.” Ray’s solution hung in the air for a moment. Peter raised his hand as if to catch it.

Winston sighed. “The chair recognizes Peter Venkman.”

“You would leave?” Peter finally roused himself enough to ask, his eyes deceptively sleepy. “You. Ray Stantz. You would leave us?”

“If I was a risk, yeah, I’d leave.” Ray was openly suspicious.

“We could do away with ‘probation’ and all that nonsense if you would promise, now, not to do any magic at all.” Peter spread his hands as if to indicate what a very sensible solution that was. “That’s safest.”

Ray leaned forward. “I don’t think you’ve been listening to me, Peter. I gave magic up once and I suffered for it. ‘Safety’ is not an option here.”

“And if we said we wouldn’t allow it? If we voted it down? Forbade it?” Peter offered. “Is your new bag of tricks worth losing all your friends?”

Egon stared at him, suddenly aghast. “Peter! How could you suggest…!”

“We would NEVER, Ray!” Janine shouted and stood up. Winston yanked her down with his free hand. “We would never!” she muttered mutinously, jerking her arm away.

“I have the floor!” Peter exclaimed.

Winston banged his tenderizer again. He was leaving awful scratches on the table. “Peter has the floor! Man, this had better…you have the floor.” Winston was at a loss. Janine was flushed a poisonous scarlet and Egon was obviously disturbed. Ray had not reacted at all. He was still leaning towards Peter, waiting. Peter pointed a finger at Ray’s head as if it were a gun.

“If you had to choose between your magic or us, which would it be?” Peter asked again. He brought his hand down and gripped the table.

Winston thought the look in Ray’s eyes was definitely a poodle-considerin’ glare. Could he keep his cool? Or would he turn Peter into a toad?

Ray cocked his head to one side and his eyes never left Peter’s or blinked. “I learned a lot in Mordor,” he said. “And one of the most important things I learned is I can survive without my friends.” He moved closer until he was nose to nose with the psychologist. “I can survive without you, Peter.”

“Holy god.” Janine’s hand shot into the air. Winston wanted to kiss her.

“The chair recognizes Janine Melnitz.”

“Since this is so important to Captain Chickenheart-Venkman I say we vote on it now. Hands up everyone who wants to ban Ray’s magic.” No hands were raised, not even Peter’s. “Hands up everyone who is in favor of the Fall and Winter Probationary Period.” Her fist stretched towards the ceiling. Winston’s went up even higher and Egon raised a compliant finger. “Ray!”

Ray jumped, breaking eye contact, and raised his hand.

Janine was breathing almost harshly. “Okay…okay…we have to vote out the Number One Rule of the Firehouse. Hands up all those in favor of striking the No Magic bylaw.’ Six hands went up, Peter had raised both of his in a sarcastic stretch. Exasperated, Janine went back to her minutes, scribbling furiously to catch up with the changes she had implemented herself.

“Like I have a choice,” Peter muttered.

“You do have a choice, Peter. You always have a choice,” Ray spat out.

“Either you leave or I do? That’s some choice!” Peter snarled.

Winston wondered what the hell the two were talking about. “No one is asking you to leave, Peter. Or you either, Ray.” He picked up his gavel with a sigh of relief. “Okay, we have decided. The Number One Rule of the Firehouse has been struck and Ray Stantz will hereby enter into a Fall and Winter Probationary Period which will expire, ahhh, let’s say Valentines Day. We are all agreed. This meeting is…” He raised his gavel.

“Hold it! This meeting is NOT adjourned!” Peter barked out. “Isn’t that right, Ray?” For the first time Ray looked apprehensive.

“Oh, Peter, we’ve had enough,” Winston groaned.

“No, no, no.” Peter clawed at the scar on his forehead as if it were boring directly into his brain. “Not yet we haven’t. Ray has a proposition to make. Don’t you, _Sweetheart?”_

“It can wait,” Ray whispered. Winston, Janine and Egon shared a suddenly frightened look among themselves. Winston’s skin was ice cold. What more could there possibly be?

“No, it can’t!” Peter shouted. “Let’s have it all out now. Let’s make it perfectly clear what exactly is at stake here. Okay, Mandrake?”

Ray closed his eyes in resignation. Slowly, he turned to Winston and raised his hand. Winston wanted to ignore it but he didn’t understand why. Why was he suddenly so afraid? Why was Ray? Something was moving through the kitchen, something unknown and dangerous that could blow the entire firehouse apart. His mouth was dry but he managed to say the fatal words. “The chair recognizes Ray Stantz.”

Ray swallowed. “I feel…I feel it would be handy…” He sighed and started over. Peter glared at him. “As I said before, more and more problems are cropping up that are immune to the technology we have here. I feel it would be useful if we all learned alternative methods of dealing with it.”

“You want to teach us some magic?” Janine interrupted, her mouth quirking.

“Yes.”

“Ooh, that would be fun!” Ray smiled at her. An obviously innocent and sincere smile and Peter swore at it, raising his hand right into Winston’s face for attention. Winston batted it aside.

“Alright already! Peter, go!”

Peter went. Right for the throat. “Ray is not proposing headache cures and love potions. Tell us the truth, Ray. Tell us what you really want, here.”

Ray stayed silent.

“I’ll tell you all, then,” Peter said. “There is a storm breaking, here. Nothing will ever be the same again. We are going to change beyond all recognition, or we’re going to leave, or we’re going to die.” He pointed at his head. “I know this. I know this as surely as I know where you can all find the things that you’ve lost. I know it the way I know when the phone is about to ring. Venkman’s Intuition. I am the original Psychic Extraordinaire. I’m always right. I’m right about this.” Peter balled his hands into fists and put them in his lap in an effort to restrain himself. “We all have the potential. Egon, Winston and you, Ray, are descended from magicians. I have my lovely Sixth Sense which is getting worse every year. God knows what Janine has going on but it makes her mighty attractive to spirits and evil sorcerers. And all of us have been influenced, changed, by the creatures we come into contact with. Gods, demigod, spirits, demons and monsters have all left their mark on us and now this. If we allow Ray this, we’ll all be unrecognizable in six months. You mark my words.”

“Are you finished, Threnody?” Ray quietly asked.

“Beware the ides of March, asshole. Now I’m finished.” Peter leaned violently back into his chair and the wood creaked.

Ray didn’t wait for Winston to recognize him. “Peter is right. We all have the potential. The need for us to utilize that potential is getting stronger. The technology won’t help us as much as it used to. We have to adapt or die. I can teach you all…”

“Hold it!” Winston made his patented time-out signal. “Adapt or die? Are you telling us our lives are at stake here?”

“No,” Ray reassured him. “We have a choice. We could either stay and learn or step aside.”

"Disbaaaaand," Peter drawled.

“Become witches or leave?” Janine clarified, her pad forgotten in front of her. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want to be a witch,” Egon said.

“Listen!” Ray said. “I didn't say disband. But three out of five of our problems depend on an occult solution. There is nothing so powerful as knowledge…”

“And nothing so dangerous either,” Peter said.

Winston let the gavel fall once and silence descended. He rubbed his eyes and took the time to choose his words very carefully. Everyone waited patiently. Finally he said, “We need a break. We need to think about this one. Ray, can you clarify your proposal?”

Ray organized his thoughts. “I propose to teach everyone all that I know in order to give us an increased advantage over the bad guys. We'll be better able to defend ourselves, at least. I acknowledge that it will change us. You can see how it’s changed me. But I’m still Ray.” He pointed at them one by one. “You will still be Winston. You will still be Janine. You will still be Egon. Peter, you will still be a jerkoff.” He spread his arms wide. “And we are all free to choose. Either we can go on as New York’s premiere heroes or we can step aside and let fate pick someone else. We have an opportunity to grow. To evolve into something powerful and spectacular. I can show you such things…trust me. This was meant to be.” Ray shook his head, frustrated at his lack of words. He gave up and gestured to Winston that he was done.

“Peter.” Winston turned. “Can you clarify your objection?” Peter’s head was down and his hand was caught in his hair. The silence stretched on.

“He can’t,” Ray decided. “He’s just afraid.”

Peter slowly looked up at Ray. His green eyes were as still and sharp as a cobra’s. “Damn right, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the things that will be attracted to us the way that Seven was attracted to your mother. I’m afraid of what damage we’ll be able to do. As if letting loose with the proton packs weren’t bad enough now we’re adding magic to the arsenal? I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself if I get pissed off. I’m afraid of what I’ll be able to see, or sense, next. I’m afraid of losing my friends and I’m afraid of losing my mind. Most of all, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave today if the vote goes against me.”

Winston picked up his gavel. “Your threat is acknowledged, Peter.” Peter got up and headed for the door. “Everyone meet back here in two hours,” Winston said loudly after him. Peter was gone. Winston slammed the mallet down.

 

*********************************

 

 

No one followed Peter. Ray picked at another piece of pepperoni and his eyes flicked from one friend to another to check their reaction. They seemed confused and betrayed. Ray shoved his anger aside and began to think. This was not going well. It was not going well at all. But he had been warned. He would not back down now. “Peter is overreacting.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Janine asked, her eyes wide and shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me what you wanted?”

Ray’s eyes were sharp, bordering on contemptuous. Another unfamiliar expression for Janine’s growing catalog. “Oh. As if I were really after your soul.” He stood up and slid his chair under the table. “The Big Bad Warlock after your blood. Peter’s a master, he really is.”

“But Peter’s always right,” Winston said, “And you lied to us.”

“I didn’t lie! There was a proper time to propose this and today wasn’t the time!” He leaned over the table and wished he had three heads so he could stare down all three of them at once. “Listen to me. Peter is afraid. And now you are, too. It’s ridiculous.”

“But Peter’s always…” Winston began to insist.

“LOOK!” Ray shouted. Egon, Janine and Winston gaped up at him. “Peter said there’s going to be change. He was right about that. But that’s all he’s right about.” He waved his hand in a circular motion, indicating them, the firehouse, all of creation and they watched him, fascinated, like kids at a sideshow. “He didn’t say we were going to die. He didn’t say we were going to burn the city down. He…listen to me very, very carefully…he didn’t say anything. He can’t really see what’s going to happen. He doesn’t KNOW. And that’s what’s driving him crazy. He has no guarantee. There IS no guarantee. And he’s too chickenshit to take a chance.”

“He’s going to leave,” Egon sounded desperate. “He means it. He’ll leave if we go against him on this.”

Janine sneered. “Let him. I will NOT be jerked around any more.” She pointed a finger at Ray’s heart. “By YOU.” She pointed at the stairs. “Or by HIM. I’m going to the park. I have to think.” She stood up, violently skidding her chair back, and headed for the door. Ray’s heart stopped and he lunged after her.

“Janine, please, I didn’t mean to…” Ray’s fingers brushed her arm and she glared at the wall, her fair skin mottled with rage. Ray soothingly tightened his grip. “I’m sorry. I would have told you first just as soon as the time was right. I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Please don’t be afraid.”

Janine glanced at him then. She outright gave him the ‘Ol Stink Eye. “I’m not afraid of anything. And you know I love you. Let go.” Ray drew his hand back as if he’d been burned. Janine’s high heels echoed on the kitchen linoleum as she strode to the door. She turned back for a parting shot. “Don’t you be afraid either, Ray. You do what you have to do.” Then she was gone. Ray stared at the stairs until they dimly heard the slamming of the front door.

Winston stood. “I’ll be in my study. I…I’ll see you in two hours.” Winston’s study was a converted storage room on the second floor and it consisted of a desk, a chair, a shelf full of ‘How to Write’ books and a word processor. A memory began to form in Ray’s brain. Oh, yes. He had promised Winston he would help knock a window into the wall. A promise Winston heard only a few weeks ago. But a promise Ray made almost a year into his past.

Ray drooped and did not watch Winston leave. He didn’t have the strength to watch Egon walk out on him, too, so he turned away.

“Ray, wait.”

He stopped and looked back. Egon contemplated a glass of tea in his hand. The ice had melted and the liquid was layered, tea on the bottom and melt-water on the top. Egon swirled it and the mix settled into a honey colored mess. Egon sipped it. He seemed uncomfortably stuck. He’d called Ray back and obviously didn’t know why.

“It’s not like you to be inarticulate, Egon,” Ray teased, allowing himself a small smile.

Egon pinned him with clear, blue eyes. “There are no words for this.” He stood up. “I have been utterly inadequate ever since that horrible day Winston and Peter brought you back from that hell. I was left behind then. I feel left behind, now. There is nothing I can do or say to help anyone. I can’t even help myself. I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

Ray nodded and helplessly shrugged his shoulders. “We can only do the best that we can. Which is…easily the most useless cliché bullshit that I’ve ever said in my life. I’m sorry I can’t help you either, Egon.”

“If I could just…” Egon made a grasping motion. “I want to know more, I want to learn more. Maybe then I could make some sort of informed decision.”

“Would you like to take some readings?”

Egon was insulted. “Despite Peter’s claim I do NOT want to turn you into a lab rat or dissect you.”

“Oh, I know, Egon. I know. Peter was hitting you where it hurts. Calling you Frankenstein or whatever. I don’t mind. You can take all the readings you want. Do all the tests you want. You must have been dying to ever since Winston showed you the Thagomizer.” Egon nodded. “Well, no problem then. Just don’t think you can cure me. I’m not sick.”

Egon waited a beat and then nodded his head. “I’m a scientist. I just want to understand, Ray.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

“I know you know.”

Ray’s mouth quirked again. “And I know you know that I know.”

Egon smiled, too, at last. “And I know that you know that I know that you know…” They laughed. More dry gasps than real laughter but it was better than screaming.

Ray headed for the door again. “I’ve decided I’m pissed off. I’m going to have it out with Peter.”

“If he must be a poodle, make him a dark green one. I’m going to the park.”

“There’s a shock.”

“Shut up.”

They left together.

******************************************************

Ray saw Egon out the door then stood in the garage to get a sense of where Peter might be. He closed his eyes and sang softly. “Has anybody seen? A dog dyed dark green? ‘Bout two inches tall? With a strawberry blonde fall?” Basement. Peter was in the basement. Ray started down the stairs. “The dog that brought me so much joy has left me wallowing in PAIN!” He burst through the basement door. “QUICHE LORRAINE!!” Peter, standing in front of the dimensional portal controls, jumped about two feet into the air and whirled around, his hand accidentally slapping the switches. The portal flickered into life. Ray slammed the door behind him. “Let’s you and I talk POODLES!”

Grey light flickered all around and Peter was only a black, hunched silhouette against the unsteady gleam of the dimensional instigator. “Let’s not,” growled that dark shadow and Ray wondered why Peter’s eyes weren’t glowing red. “I’ve said everything I want to and nothing you say can change my mind.” Peter jumped down and lurched past Ray. The scene in the portal clarified and, oh, yes, it was Mordor. Peter must have hit the switch that brought up the last dimension visited and he paused to look at it. “Oh, look. Home sweet home.”

It seethed and writhed with misery. “I’ve seen it.” Ray flicked his fingers in the direction of the controls and the switches began to move. Mordor disappeared and the basement filled with the shimmering glow of Between the Worlds. Peter flinched again. “Let’s surf.”

“Forget it,” Peter snarled and crossed the basement floor to the door. He closed his hand around the knob. It wouldn’t open. Peter yanked and pulled. It wasn’t jammed. It wasn’t locked. “Damn you!” he shouted, spinning around to face Ray. “Let me out!”

“No.” Ray crooked his finger and two stools skidded across the floor and settled in front of him like two obedient dogs. He sat on one and motioned for Peter to take the other.

“Forget it, Bix, let me out.” Peter remained clinging to the far side of the room.

“Bix?” Ray kept his voice neutral. Do what you have to do, Janine had said. He was determined to do it.

“Yeah, yeah, BIX!” Peter snapped. “I suppose Janine is next on your hit list, huh? You’ve been mooning over her for as long as she’s been chasing after Egon. This gives you an advantage, huh? You’ll be locking her in a room next, won’t you?” Pater began to beat on the thick oak. “WINSTON! EGON!”

“They’re gone. Winston’s locked himself into his study on the 2nd floor and Janine and Egon went to the park. They can’t hear you. They can’t help you.” Sighing, he added, “Muahaha.” Peter was sweating. “Let’s see here,” Ray began to count off on his fingers. “According to you Winston is my judge and jury who wants to lock me up. Egon is a Mad Scientist that wants to dissect me. Janine is some sort of hapless damsel in distress and I’m Bix on the verge of ravishing her. You are on a roll, my friend.”

“Let…me…out.”

“No. Come here and talk.”

“No.” His fingers ground into the scars on his forehead. Odd how his nails didn’t make a mark on his fair skin. Very odd, indeed.

“Do you really think I would hurt you, Peter?” Ray asked, quietly, standing. The stools scooted away against the wall.

Peter’s breath was loud. “Yes. I know you will.”

 _I know that you know that I know._ Ray smiled. ”You’re right.”

Peter began to kick at the door. Then his legs were flailing at thin air as his body was pulled backwards, backwards, back…and then pinned, spread-eagled, to the center of the basement floor. “RAY! YOU BASTARD!! YOU SONOVABITCH!! I’LL KILL YOU!! I SWEAR! LET ME UP!! LET ME GO!!”

“Peter, please don’t panic.” Ray’s eyes were hurt as he walked past Peter towards the red standing toolbox in the corner. There was a loud clanging of metal as he began to search the drawers. He found a flat-head screwdriver the size of a small club and put it aside. He overturned a box of bolts and found a small putty knife. It was sticky and still had gobs of dried spackle on it. He kept it and threw the screwdriver back. “Did you use my tools without cleaning them?” he asked, faking annoyance.

“LET ME GO, YOU SICK BASTARD!!”

“Well,” Ray decided, resigned. “At least you put them back.”

“Are you looking for a box cutter?!” Peter snarled. “That’s what Bix used. He carved up my head with a rusty box cutter. I think Winston has one in the garage toolbox. But, if you think Egon isn’t going to notice I’m being controlled…”

“I’m not going to control you.” Ray swallowed. How familiar was this scene to Peter? Helpless. Trapped. Afraid. Ray hated to do this but it just had to be done. It had to be done. It had to. He locked his tools up again and went to the basement spigot to clean off the knife. He wiped it dry on his jeans.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, god, Peter, you amaze me. Really, you do.” Ray considered using the Force to clamp Peter’s mouth shut but that sort of fine control was beyond him at the moment. He could barely keep Peter flat, speak and find the right tools for the job as it was. He went to the storage room and picked up an unopened gallon jug of spring water that Janine had stored there. He walked back to his friend and ignored the way Peter was snarling.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!! GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!.”

“Now, Peter,” Ray straddled Peter’s waist and settled himself comfortably. “I want you to remember that this is going to hurt. It’s going to hurt like an absolute bitch but it has to be done. I’ve been wanting to do it ever since I got back but, god, I couldn’t even talk to you much less accomplish anything for you.”

“What…are…you…DOING?!” Peter hissed between clenched teeth.

Ray gestured with his putty knife towards the pentacle scarification on Peter’s forehead. “I’m going to do some scraping.”

“Oh, no. Oh, Ray, don’t.”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Janine would be invaluable right now, there wouldn’t be so much pain if a woman did it, but I gotta make do.” Ray’s fingertips traced the wound’s circle and the five lines of the star it contained. Peter’s skin was cold and he was sweating though no sweat drops were forming on the pentagram itself. “It’s cold and the skin’s stiff, like a piece of leather.” Ray scraped it with his fingernails. “And no marks at all. Can you even feel my nails?” Peter didn’t answer. Ray sighed, smelled his fingers, and wrinkled his nose. “And it stinks. Your skin stinks like Bix and evil and shampoo. The scar obviously hurts, too. Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you even consider that I might just be able to help you?”

Peter said nothing. The muscles and tendons in his neck bulged and a vein in his temple was throbbing. But he wasn’t screaming anymore. Was he tacitly accepting help or was he determined to show strength in the face of torture? Ray didn’t know but at least the screaming was ended. Ray picked up the jug of water and shook it. “This is how I purified my drinking water in Mordor. It takes a lot out of me but I’m used to it. Sometimes it even feels good, giving so much of yourself, your soul, for a good purpose. Watch me, Peter. Watch the water. It’s going to be okay.” Ray knew that if Peter’s looks could kill then he would have left the basement in a matchbox. Ah, well.

“I’m going to get a little dramatic here. When in Middle Earth you do as the Middle Earthlings do.” He paused to collect himself and then began to mutter. “A Elbereth Gilthoniel o melen palan-diriel, le nallon si di’nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!” The water began to swirl and Peter stared at it, horrified. Ray let out the slightest cough of amusement and continued as the sensation of energy pouring out of him through his hands became more intense, “A Unicef Clearasil, gibberish ‘n drivel, O Mennen mylar Muriel, Enden nytol Vaseline! Sing hey nonny Nembutal! Obviously the words don't matter as much as the intent, y'see?” Peter’s eyes went wide.

The water was glowing, gleaming, flickering in a soft rainbow brilliance that put the shifty greyness of the portal to shame. Ray sent as much of himself into the jug as he safely could, for Peter’s sake, and he could see the veins in his hands as the light passed through his flesh. Then he stopped and unscrewed the cap. The plastic was smoking and Peter groaned. “This is going to hurt. Bad,” Ray reminded him. “Scream your lungs out if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Ray. Oh, no. No. Ray. Nonononoooo.” Peter shook his head from side to side. Ray tipped the jug and a gleaming arc of spelled spring water sloshed onto Peter’s face. “NononoYYRRAAAAARRRRGHH!!!!!!” He bucked, almost throwing Ray off. The white flesh of the pentacle scar turned a searing red. Ray continued to dribble water until the slash marks began to swell and crack. Then he set the jug down. He picked up the putty knife.

He sat still for a moment to steady his flayed nerves. Then he acted fast, cutting the skin diagonally across the circle, then cutting again, leaving an X. There was no blood. Peter didn’t scream. He panted deep groaning breaths of pain and that was worse, somehow. Ray picked up the jug and poured more water. He realized he was crooning nonsense words and vague reassurances to the pained man beneath him. He wished someone, anyone, was there to reassure him, too. Cutting into a friend was hard, even if it was for his own good. He wondered how surgeons could stand it. There was still no blood. Strange disgusting strands of black began to ooze from the gashes. Ray scraped them away and tapped the knife at arm’s length on the floor to clear it. More strands writhed forth from Peter’s pale skin and Ray patiently scraped those away, too. He tapped the knife again and Peter’s head lolled to look at the mess accumulating on the floor. A stench of rot filled the basement and Ray quickly trickled more water. Peter gagged and thrashed.

“I know, I know, it’s okay.” Ray soothed. “See, we were able to stop Bix from controlling you but I was so screwed up back then that it never even occurred to me to offer to clean your scars properly. To totally erase them. I couldn’t back then, y’see, but I can now. I’m sorry it took me this long.” Ray scraped more wriggling darkness from Peter’s head. He was determined to get it all. “To put it simply, your scar is infected. When I’m done you’ll feel a lot better.” He put the tip of the knife under the center of the X and flicked it up. A triangle of cold skin peeled away and Ray retched. “Oh, God. Oh, yuck.” He poured more water, steeled himself, and tore the flap completely off. He sat back and shuddered, fighting his nausea. He bent again and worked quick as heat lightning, tearing up and off the remaining three slices. He added them to the disgusting pile. Black goo writhed on Peter’s raw flesh and Ray frantically poured more water. The blackness melted away. Peter was now lying in a glowing puddle, his dark hair shining with light, and Ray concentrated on the pretty sparkles of it lest he lose his lunch. He could taste the pepperoni in the back of his throat, sour and heavy, and began to swallow compulsively. He scraped the exposed flesh again and again. Peter’s jaw was clenched shut, at last, and Ray began to worry. “I know this hurts, Peter, go ahead and scream.”

“N…nah.” His voice was broken and raw. The water glittered even on Peter’s eyelashes. Ray realized that he had ceased to keep the man magically pinned long ago and Peter’s hands were clutching Ray’s legs in pain. He wasn’t struggling. “No. M’okay."

Ray patted his friend on the chest. “You’re doing great. We just have a bit more to go. Oh, look! Good. You’re bleeding!” He held up bloody fingers for Peter’s approval. Peter grunted and Ray poured more water. “Good. Good. Good. Blood is a good sign. The blood is the life and all that.”

“Puh!” Peter spit gleaming water out of his mouth. His glazed eyes sought out Ray’s. “I’m…going…to…absolutely…kick…your…ass.”

“Okay,” Ray agreed generously. “The festering is all gone now. How does your head feel? How do you feel?”

It took a while for the question to penetrate. Peter’s answer was slurred. “I feel light. I feel drunk. My skin hurts…but the pain is gone.”

“Look at this gunk.” Ray reached out and prodded at the globs of skin and blackness with his scraper. “Can you believe you’ve been walking around with this shit in your skin for months?”

“Uh…ew.” Peter blinked sluggishly, like a cold lizard, and whispered, “Get rid of it, please.”

Ray snapped his fingers at the mess. “Burn!” he commanded and it did. Bright blue flames obliterated it and the basement was filled with the very objectionable reek of burning flesh and evil. The flames glimmered on the water and Peter stared, mesmerized, as more blood began to seep into his ears and onto the floor. Ray got off him and reeled over to the washer and dryer. The laundry was half done and Winston had left a pile of clean towels in the basement. Ray picked out two of the fluffiest and brought them back to Peter, who hadn’t moved. Ray kneeled over him. Poor Peter. All sprawled on the floor like that. Poor guy. He mumbled something indistinct and blew on the raw patch on Peter’s forehead to stop the bleeding.

“YAGH!” Peter rolled away from him until he hit the wall shelves. Then he pulled himself hand over hand up, up, up until he stood, swaying.

“What, did that hurt, too?” Ray offered a towel and Peter grabbed it. He clutched it to his chest like a terrycloth teddy bear.

“No, it felt good.” Peter gingerly tapped at his raw skin with his forefinger. Obviously it hurt but he didn’t stop. Tap, tap, tap. “Which is more disturbing than anything.” Tap, tap, tap. “It smells like something died down here.”

“Yeah. Hang on.” There was an exhaust system in the basement and Ray turned it on. The stink began to clear.

“I can feel it.” Peter mused, still gently poking and tapping at his head. “I can feel my skin.” He did not seem unduly surprised to find a stool had appeared next to him and he sank down into it. Ray began to mop up the floor with the other towel. The only evidence of the entire operation was their damp, bloody clothes and a singe-mark on the concrete floor which was quickly rubbed away. The pint of water left in the jug still sparkled.

Ray put it in Peter’s hands. “Drink that.”

“You’re kidding. It looks like it came from Chernobyl Springs.”

“It came from me. Remember? Drink it.” Peter took a sip, then a healthy swallow. “Drink it all,” Ray encouraged and Peter did.

“Ai yai, it’s cool water but it goes down warm. Weird.” The jug dropped from Peter’s hand onto the floor and he looked down at it stupidly. Ray lobbed it into the garbage then fetched his own stool and the basement first-aid box. He had not expected to be so drained but cutting into his friend…it had been awful. Just awful.

“It won’t scar this time, Peter,” he said. He sat opposite the dripping man. He opened the small white box on his lap and waited for Peter to respond. “The pentacle was like a big leathery scab and it came off easy.” His stomach lurched at the memory. “But your forehead looks like you’ve gotten one of those chemical peels done so it’ll look good once it heals up.” He found the tube of antibacterial cream and unscrewed the top. He squeezed a dollop onto his finger and scooted his stool closer. Peter didn’t even flinch when he began to gently smear it over the raw flesh.

“I feel so funky.”

“Yeah.” Ray tore four long strips of medical tape and attached them to his jeans. Then he made a small wad of gauze and held it to Peter’s forehead. He picked up the strips, one by one, and taped it in place. He decided Winston couldn’t have done a better job himself and he hoped Peter wouldn’t fiddle with it too much. He snapped the box closed and pitched it onto the counter. His arms were suddenly too heavy to hold up anymore and he sagged.

Peter began to slowly dry his hair with the towel. He looked, to Ray, more energetic. He, himself, didn’t even have the strength to blow spit bubbles. Awful. Just awful.

“Ray.”

“Yeah?”

Peter’s arm shot out and seized Ray by the front of his shirt. He stood, lifted Ray bodily off the stool and shook him, shook him and shook him some more. Ray hung limp. Fine. If Peter wanted to kick his ass…that was fine. Understandable. Totally. He turned his head and shut his eyes tight. Peter’s grip loosened and Ray slid to the concrete. Peter let go. He stepped back and sat on his stool again, or tried to. He missed it by a foot and landed on his ass on the floor. It was a struggle but Ray didn’t laugh at him. Both men hauled themselves back up until they were properly seated again, facing each other. A good, long fifteen minutes of time ticked by on the red-haired Betty Boop clock.

Peter finally spoke. “You couldn’t have…” Peter stopped and sighed. “No. You couldn’t have.”

“I couldn’t have what?”

“Picked a better time to ‘help’ me. But I know you couldn’t have. I mean…” Peter drooped.

“I couldn’t even get you to talk to me. There was nothing else I could do.”

“I know.”

 _I know that you know that I know..._ ”Peter, I can teach you to protect yourself so this sort of thing won’t happen to you again. I can teach you to protect others. I can teach you how to control yourself.” Peter turned his head away and stared at the floor. Ray wanted to weep. Where was his mother’s reassuring voice now? It’s okay, sweetheart? Everything happens for a reason, dear? Where was she now? “If you don’t want to learn then that’s fine, too. We’ll take care of you.”

Peter glanced up. “So, it’s not ‘Learn or Leave’ anymore?”

“It never was! Geez, Peter!” It was Ray’s turn to give the wall his undivided, angry attention.

“Well, that’s what it sounded like.” Peter was petulant and crossed his arms.

Betty reigned over another five minutes of time.

Peter relented first. “Okay, maybe I misheard you.”

“You twisted my words to suit yourself. You’ve scared the hell out of Winston, Janine and Egon. They’re probably packing right now.”

“Ray…”

“All because you don’t like change!”

“Ray! A change like this?!” Peter pointed at his forehead and Ray swiveled around to face him.

“Peter, in your heart, do you feel like we’re making a mistake? Do you feel danger? Or are you just afraid?”

Peter had picked his towel up off the floor and was twisting it violently. He looked exhausted but still strong. Ray was clearly limp as a damp Kleenex. It was a struggle for him to remain upright on his stool and he hoped Peter didn’t pick up on his weakness too easily. Peter’s bandage shone white in the grey glow of the portal and he lifted his pale hand to poke at it again. He winced.

“I don’t know what I feel.” Peter finally said. “I feel numb. I can’t think. I can’t talk about this, now.”

Ray sighed. “I can’t think either. I don’t know what more I can do.”

Another minute passed. Suddenly Peter’s mouth quirked up with mischief. “Do you want to surf?” They both looked at the dimensional portal, still flickering innocently at the far end of the basement.

“How much time do we have?”

“Boop Oop A Doop!! Hee hee!!” Betty chimed. They looked at her.

“We have one hour.”

“Let’s go.”

******************************************************

It had been stated before and it’s a fact worth stating again. If there was one universal, undeniable, attractant for all the residents of the firehouse it was the sound of laughter. Winston was the first to drift downstairs to the basement door. How had Ray and Peter gone from screaming shadows of themselves to laughing like village idiots in the space of two hours? Winston pushed open the door. Oh. Not this. Not again.

“Peter! The sight shields!” Ray cringed back from the stunned glower of the nine-foot tall warrior maiden. She was standing naked in the middle of a stream and covering her enormous sofa-cushion sized breasts with her two ham-hands. “Peter!” Ray shrieked again and scooted backwards on his rump on the floor.

“Aye aye, Captain!” Peter blew a kiss to Brunhilde and raised the shields. She dropped her hands to her hips as her lips curled in disgust. Then she rolled her eyes, flipped her blond braids over her back, and went back to her swim. “Ach du lieber! She’s mein little leibchen!”

“Little?!” Winston exclaimed. “Look at the size of…what happened to you guys?” Peter was wearing a bandage and Ray looked too weak to get off the floor. Both had terrible dark circles under their eyes.

“Nothin,’” They said in unison and Winston stared from one to the other.

“Right,” he finally said. Then Brunhilde was getting out of the water and Winston was sidetracked. Talk about some great googly mooglies.

“WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING?!” shrieked a homegrown Valkyrie and Winston was suddenly desperate to hide. Ray turned face down and covered his head with his arms. Peter just waved. Janine was standing in the door and gaping at the screen with Egon just behind her. His eyes were wide and his hand covered his mouth. Janine went from indignation to awe in three seconds flat. She pointed at the screen. “Wow! Look at the size of those!”

“Trust me, we’re looking! We’re looking!” Peter looked on the verge of swooning. Winston saw Janine and Egon sharply look from him to Ray, still sprawled on the floor. Janine walked over and nudged him with her toe.

“Too bad you weren’t trapped over there, Ray.” He turned over and giggled at her, red to the tips of his ears.

“I would never have come back,” he agreed and held up his hand. Janine graciously pulled him to his feet. “What’ll we name this one, Peter?”

“I’m leaning towards Omega Tits 3000,” Winston snorted and Janine laughed.

“PETER!” Egon was aghast at all of them.

“Hey,” Janine decided. “Since we’re visiting nice dimensions today, I wanna see some naked gladiators!” She made squeezy squeezy motions at the screen.

“JANINE!”

Brunhilde had finished drying off and getting dressed and was now walking into the deep forest that was her home. Everyone, even Janine, craned their necks to look after her until she disappeared. “Okay,” Peter decided. “I want ‘following’ capabilities installed on this thing and I want them, like, yesterday!”

“Dude,” Ray played along. “I’ll, like, put it on my To Do list.”

“This is an absolute waste of the portal’s capabilities,” Egon began.

“Bummer, like, the MAN is coming down on us, dude!” Ray complained.

“Not cool,” Peter agreed. Winston didn’t know whether to be alarmed or relieved over the obvious truce that Ray and Peter had reached. How? What happened? He decided he’d better enjoy it while it lasted.

“Here’s something more his style, dude,” Peter spun the controls and Janine gave a little cheer as the scene clarified. Two moons gleaming beautifully through bay windows. Ornate furniture. Silver Christmas bulbs strung along every surface.

“The Parlor!” Janine clapped her hands then stopped, looking again. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh, what?” Ray asked.

“The decorations have changed. Early Art Deco or whatever it’s called. It’s not Dickensland anymore. I’d say it was around the nineteen-twenties now.”

“I wonder if Ophelia’s family is still there?”

“I wonder if she still paints?”

“You see the attachment you’ve formed in just two visits? Can’t you see how dangerous that is?” Egon growled.

“Oh, stuff a sock…look!” Peter interrupted himself. The door of the parlor opened and a Flapper bearing gifts breezed in. Her hair was streaked with grey and cut into a bob. Her short satin dress was covered in fringe and an enormous necklace of colorful stones stretched down to her knees. It was Ophelia and she was still adorable.

“Mum!” called a voice.

“In here!” Ophelia answered and continued to place her presents just so. A girl of about sixteen came dashing in, dressed as a fairy with gossamer wings, and she had feathers clutched in both hands. “I found some feathers for your hair! And you should see Aunt Polly’s costume!”

“I can imagine, knowing Polly. And I don’t need any feathers, I look quite silly enough, thank you.” Ophelia grinned at her daughter and Janine sent a warmhearted Awwwww in their direction.

“Silly? You look better than I do in my dress. It’s not fair.” She held the feathers out again in a wheedling sort of way.

Ophelia batted them aside. “You’re too kind.”

“Aunt Polly is dressed as a Sorceress. She offered to read Mr. Houdini’s fortune.”

“Mr. WHO?!” Ray exclaimed, suddenly showing great animation. The entire firehouse gang leaned forward.

“What did Harry say?” Ophelia was smiling.

“He offered to saw her in half. Among other things.” Ophelia and her girl giggled identical giggles. “But, honestly, I think Aunt Polly thinks that he really can saw her in half and put her back together again. She thinks he really is magic.”

“Hmm. Magic,” Ophelia echoed and her eyes flicked to the wall before she returned attention to her daughter.

“I told her Mr. Houdini is just a conjurer. There’s no such thing as magic in the world and she has nothing to worry about.” She was quite a prim and sensible little lady, despite her outlandish costume. Ophelia was fussing with the decorations and taking her time in answering. Her lips were pursed, though. Winston glanced at Ray. He was looking up at Peter. Peter was examining his hands and ignoring the controls in front of him. Winston, for the life of him, couldn’t decipher their expressions. Janine and Egon were leaning on each other and not looking at anyone.

“Are you so sure there’s no such thing as magic?” Ophelia finally asked, sweetly. Peter’s hands clenched. No one was smiling in the basement now.

“Oh, Mum.” The girl waved her hands, pooh poohing the very idea. “Magical and mythological themes have sold you a great many paintings but to believe in it? Honestly!” Peter was biting his thumbnail. “You might as well believe in Santa Claus!”

“Oh, darling,” Ophelia answered. “Maybe someday you’ll learn that there is more to heaven and earth…” her eyes were on the wall again. Winston imagined a pleading look was in them. Peter was kneading his hands together. Ray was keeping absolutely still.

“Than is dreamt of in my philosophy. I know!” She turned to the tree and began to re-arrange her mother’s presents.

“You don’t know anything, brat.” Peter grumbled and hit the controls. The girl had her back to the portal so Ophelia saw them first. She didn’t even gasp but her smile was like the caroling of every angel in Heaven. Ophelia glowed with joy. She gently waved. The gang waved back. Janine was suddenly crying. Ray was crying. Winston’s vision blurred. Peter enabled the protective anti-germ field, dropped the shields and left the controls to stand front and center before the portal. Ray moved up and stood on Peter’s right. Janine moved to Ray’s side and Egon went to her side. Winston happily stepped into place on Peter’s left. Ophelia was silently clapping her hands.

Her daughter didn’t notice. “Anyone who DOES believe in magic is a lunatic at best or a charlatan at worst. That’s what Mr. Houdini says. I’m telling you he’s right.”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Ophelia breathed. “Tell them!”

The girl turned around and screamed. She ran but her escape was hindered when she suddenly couldn’t remember how to open the door. “MUM!! MUM!! RUN!!” She clawed at the wood. Ophelia politely walked over and opened it for her. “MR. HOUDINI!! MR. HOUDINI!!” She disappeared. The girl had lungs, Winston granted her that. Everyone was laughing. It felt good to laugh and Winston laughed harder than anyone.

Ophelia approached them, her eyes pouring tears. Peter theatrically held out his arms. She reached out and tapped him on the hand. Yes, he was real and she could touch him. She threw herself at him and Winston could feel that hug himself, it was so strong. “Now, Ophelia,” Peter mumbled into her hair. “This is the LAST time.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you. She was getting so drab and closed-minded. Worse than Father,” she stepped back and sniffed. “I owe you all so much.”

A thundering of footfalls began to echo around the house. The girl had roused the house. “We have to go, Peter.” Egon stated firmly and headed for the controls himself.

“Your name is Peter? This is all your doing?” Ophelia gasped.

“No. This is all Ray’s doing. We blame him.”

“Don’t blame him!” Ophelia moved over a step and Ray was given a mighty squeeze, too. “Everything happens for a reason! Thank you, Ray. Thank you. I owe you everything…”

The footsteps were growing louder. “Ms. Ophelia,” Egon cautioned.

Ophelia reached up and laid a warm hand on Peter’s cheek and another on Ray’s. “Ray. Ray and Peter. Oh, my sweethearts. My own sweethearts. I will repay you both for this, somehow, I promise.” She stepped back and the door burst open. Egon hit the controls.

“Did you get the sight shields up in time, Egon?” Winston asked. He was suddenly worried about Ray and Peter. They were standing still as the stone spires of Mordor and gaping at Ophelia who could no longer see them. Her daughter was trying to drag her from the room and she was laughing with delight.

“No, he didn’t!” Janine gasped and pointed at an intense man, no taller than she was, whose eyes were scanning the wall in disbelief. “I looked right into his eyes. I looked right into Harry Houdini’s eyes! And he saw me! WOO!!” Janine threw her arms in the air and did a little dance. Egon groused under his breath and violently flicked a switch. The Parlor disappeared, probably for the very last time. Peter and Ray were still staring at the portal. The grey flickered into the silence of the basement. The pause stretched out and became uncomfortable.

Winston shook his head. He absolutely did not want to be the responsible one but someone had to do the inevitable. He picked up a putty knife that someone had left on the counter. He banged the handle against the wood and immediately had everyone’s attention. Janine’s good humor left her entirely. Egon was impassive. Ray and Peter reluctantly turned around.

“Now that the fun is over, we have unfinished business. Should we go back to the kitchen?”

“No,” Peter decided. “We can have it out here.” He sank to the floor and sat cross-legged. As if they were all sitting around a campfire, everyone followed his example, even Egon. Janine made no move to collect her pen and pad.

“I recall this meeting to order,” Winston announced and tapped the knife again. “Peter, what happened to your head and why are you and Ray wet?”

Peter took the putty knife out of Winston’s hand and tossed it into a far corner. It landed with a clatter and Ray almost smiled. “Unimportant story. And this meeting has already stretched longer than I can personally stand.” He tapped his fingers on his bandage and Winston was surprised by the look of peace he wore. He suddenly knew what he would find if he were to pull that bandage away. He would find nothing. He looked at Ray and nodded approval even though Ray wasn’t looking at him. Good job of poodling, son.

“I withdraw my objection to Ray’s proposal,” Peter simply said and flopped backwards onto the concrete. No fight left in him at all. He began to sing. “Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be, the future’s not ours to see. Que sera sera.”

“I would like to postpone the vote,” Ray said and his eyes were begging. “Please don’t make an uninformed decision. Give me the Fall and the Winter and we can make up our minds in the Spring. Please. Okay?”

Winston had his perfectly composed and reasoned decision double-spaced on a piece of paper in his pocket. It had taken him the entire two hours to write it. And now was not the time to read it. He doubted if that time would ever come. Peter’s surrender was a great relief and Winston nodded his head. “I second the motion.”

“Good. We’ll decide in the Spring.” Janine sounded as if she’d been released from prison. Ray looked at Egon who simply nodded.

“Then this meeting is adjourned.” Winston slapped his hand on the bare floor and the clap echoed with finality.

Ray, for some odd reason, gave them all a triumphant Black Power salute and fell back onto the concrete beside Peter. Janine leaned over and patted him on the belly. “Hey, Ray. Teach me something now.”

Ray looked up at her and the simple love in his face shone as brightly as a star. “Alright, Grasshopper, repeat after me…Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Wiener…”

 

The End


End file.
